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An Illustrated Monthly 

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An Illustrated Monthly 

Vol. XL1I. 

Xoit&on : 



it; 1 [ 

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y-Leader " Story 
I 'achcll, Barry Pain 


Illustrations by W. K. WigfulL 


Illustration* by the Author. 


Illustrations from Photograph -- 

Ridge, Arthur Morrison, H. A 
Illustrations by Ren* Bull. 


Illustrations by Rene Hull. 


Illustrations by Sydney Seymour Luca>. 


Illustrations from Photograph* ami Facsimile*. 


Illustrations by J. A. Shepherd. 


Illustrations by VV. H. Margetson, R.I 

CARDS, A PACK OF. Its Stories, Legends, and Romances 

Illustration* from Old Prints and Facsimile*. 

CAREERS IN PICTURES. II.— Lord Kitchener . . 

Illustration^ from Drawings and Photographs. 


Illustrations from Photographs. 


Illustrations by J. A. Shepherd. 

" CHEEK." Instances by " Strand " Readers 

Illustrations by W. K. Wigfull. 



Illustrations by Geo. Murrow. 


Illustrations by Sydney Seymour l.uca*. 


Illustrations from Photographs and Facsimiles. 


Illustrations by C. K. Brock, R.I. 


Illustrations from Photographs, Facsimiles, and 


DRESS, SOME HINTS ON. For the Use of Our 


Illustrations by W. Dewar. 


Illustrations from Photograph-. 


Illustrations by George Soper. 


Illustrations by C. H. TafK 


Illustrations from Photographs 


Illustrations from Facsimile*. 
GIFT IN SEASON. THE. A Christmas Story of the North-West 

Illustration* by Gilbert Holiday. 


Illustrations by A. Wall is Mill*. 


Illustrations by Will Owen. 


Illustrations from Photograph*. 


Illustrations by H. M. Brock, R.l. 

Old Punt*, 
ireat Men 


Claude Grahame-W kite. 3 
Hick P. F. Ritchie. 474 


E. Phillips Oppenheim. II". Pett 

Charles Garrice. and Richard Marsh. 1S8 

P. G. Wodehouse. 9 

Winifred Graham. 174 

Arthur T. Polling. 149 

Leonard Larkin. 305 

Mrs. Baillie Reynolds. 66 

101, i8r 



Leonard Larkin. 749 

T. B. Rowland. ;Su 

A. T. Doll in*. 18 

Herman Sche flatter. 331 

.117, 238. $5^ 478, 598. 788, 798 

C. C. Andrrws. 641 

Charles Van Noorden. 375 

Leading Black-and-white Artists. 389 

W. North White. 41 S 

Bertram Smith. 304 

.. //. G. Wells. 724 

R. B. Vauqhan. 495 

, Claude E. Benson. 408 

//. G. Wells. 724 


May Edzinton. 680 

Edward Cecil. 94 

If*. W. Jacobs. 318 

Emily F. Partington. 506 

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of Representative Opinion;. 710 
P. G. Wodehouse. 27^ 

Original from 

INDEX. iii. 


H13 BASKET OF MEMORIES Roy Norton. 52 

Illustrations by Gilbert Holiday. 


Illustrations by Will Owen. 

HORSES? DOES IT PAY TO BACK. The Opinions of Experts 198 

Illustrations by Harry Rountree. 


Illustrations from Sketches. 

HOUSE-WARMING, A Horace Annesley Vachell. 562 

Illustrations by C. H. Taffs. 

HOW I LIVED IN PARIS WITHOUT MONEY. The Story of a Modern Bohemian ..Frederic Lees. 325 
Illustration* from Photographs. 


Illustrations from Facsimiles. 


Illustrations from Facsimiles. 


Illustrations by H. llanos. 


Illustrations by Frank Gillrtt, R.I. 


Illustrations from Facsimiles. 


V.— The Adventure of Fleirette 

VI.— The Adventure of the Miracle 

Illustrations by Alec Ball. 

I.— The Man Who Cut Off My Hair 

IL— Eavesdropping at Interlaken 

III.— Conscience 

IV.— Matched 

V.— The Miracle 

Illustrations by J. R. Skelton. 


Illustrations by C. H. TafTs. 


Illustrations from Facsimiles and Photographs. 


Illustrations by Dudley Hardy, R.I. 

LAWN-TENNIS STROKES THAT PAY. Opinions of Famous Players 
Illustrations from Photographs. 


Illustrations by Will Owen. 


Illustrations by Dudley Hardy, R.I. 

MULTUM IN PARVO. A Compendium of Short Articles :— 



Octave Beliard. 776 
.Edward Price Bell. 547 


William J. 




Richard Marsh. 

. . 

21 5 




Horace Annesley Vachell. 140 

Austin Philips and Peler Macaire. 700 

IT. IV. Jacobs. 202 

Arthur Morrison. 

Magic Figi re Designs 
Simple Weather-Tellers 



i4 The Strand " Card Game 



Illustrations by Dudley Hardy, R.L 


Illustrations from Photographs. 


Illustrations by W. E. Wigfull. 


Illustrations by H. M. Brock, K.I. 

*ON THE ROAD." Stories Told bv Leading Actors and Actresses 
Illustrations by W. E. Wigfull. 


Illustrations by H. M. Brock, K.l. 

PARIS WITHOUT MONEY, HOW I LIVED IN. The Story of a Modern Bohemian . .Frederic Lees. 32s 
Illustrations from Photographs. 

PASSED MASTER, A Arthur Morrison. 381 

Illustrations by L. D.iviel. 


Illustrations by W. R. S. Siott. 


Illustrations from Diagrams. Henry E. Dndenev. 10X, 225, 34S, 477, 597, 786 

rv -.- ^^ r^rw"*nL* Original from 

Digitized by V^iOOg IC 

Walter Dannage, 

S. Leonard Bastiiu 226 

Prof. Blyde M udder snook. P.O.Z.A.S. 2S4 

Arthur Conan Doyle. 123 

. . 401 

. . . . Max Riitenberg. 575 







Illustrations from Phot ., ji.ipii*. 


I llu*t rations from Photographs. 


Illustrations from Photographs. 


Illustrations by Joseph Simp-ton, K. U.A. 



Illustrations by r»eo. Morrow. 


Illustrations by John E. Sutclific. 

REFORM IS MOST NEEDED ? WHAT. A Symposium of Eminent Men and Women . . 
illustrations by J. H. Lunn. 


II lust rai ions by Geo. Morrow. 


Illustrations by \\\ H. Mnrg*t>ou v R.I 


SCHMAT-RAZUM. A Story for Children .. 

Illustrations by H. R. Millar. 

SEASIDE OF THE FUTURE, THE. Forecasts of Well-Known Am. 

The Disappearance of Lady Frances Carfax . 

Illustrations by Alec Rail. 


Illustrations from Photographs. 


Illustrations by Will Owen. 

"S.P.B.," THE 

Illustrations from Photograph-. 


Illustrations by E. T. Reed. 


Illustrations by W. R. S. Stoit. 


Illustrations from Photo^ra^h-. 




Illustrations from Photographs and Drawings by E. BLuupied 


Illustrations by \V. R. S. Sfott. 


Illustrations from Photographs and Facsimiles. 


Illustrations from Drawings and Photographs. 


Illustrations by Joseph Simpson, R.B. A. 

WEATHER-WIT .. .. .. .. 

Illustrations from Facsimiles ai.d O'.d Punt-. 


Illustrations by Alec Boll. 


Illustrations by Gilbert Holida}. 


Illustrations by Sjdru-y >eynv»ur I '!■ >. 


Illustration from a Photograph. 

WONDERFUL GARDEN. THE. A Story for Children . . . . E. Xesbit 

Illustrations by H. R. Millar. 


Charles Frchman. $$(: 


Mrs. Herbert I 'ivia n. 46 1 

P. G. Wodehouse. 623 

: Sidney J. Miller. 237 

A. T. Dolling. 18 

Bertram Athey. 763 


E. Seton Valentine. 581 

Florence Warden. 261 

.. 6.3 

. . . .. .. tun 



Arihtr Co)ian Doyle. 
• - 603 

Francis Arthur Jones. 443 

W. W. Jacobs. 436 


. . J. II lilsher. 169 

Sir Henry Lttcy. 33, 163 

Morley Roberts. 661 

R. L Pocock. F.R.S. 654 


Marshall P. Wilder. 758 

Charles G a nice. 512 

Jerrard Grant Allen. 340 


P. G. Wodehouse. 154 


James Workman. 24 
. . Barry Pain. 501 
Austin Philips. 422 

iog, 22<>, 34*.), 466. 588 

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Facsimile of the first page of the Dickens Centenary Register* 

Destined to contain many thousands of the signatures of Dickens readers, and to be deposited on the 
hundredth anniversary of the great novelist's birth at his birthplace at Portsmouth* The first to 
sign it were Their Majesties King George and Queen Mary, and after these Royal signatures come an 
illustrious roll of many of the most famous men and women of our time. Any admirer of Dirkens 
may sign it at the Feggotty's Hut in the Crystal Palace Grounds or the Old Curiosity Shop, Great 

White Ciiv, „ , , . . 

. ,1 , , On run, 3 1 tram ■ 



- i 

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Original from 


Vol. xtii. 

JULY, 191 1. 

No. 347. 

Wliy There is Danger in 
England s Apathy. 




VoL xlii-1. 

YEAR or so ago, when the first crude aeroplanes 
were flying yards instead of miles, and when no 
flight of any kind was possible unless there was 
practically a dead calm, there were clever men who 
smiled when air-craft were spoken of as possible weapons 
in time of war. Now, in 191 1 , a man whirls through the 
air at sixty- three miles an hour, lunching 111 London and 
having tea in Paris, and amazing the whole world by 
bridging the distance between the two capitals in a 
monoplane in three hours less time than is taken by 
the fastest train and the quickest turbine steamer. 

And this only half reveals the phenomenal progress 
which the aeroplane is making. A weight-carrying 
machine, bearing aloft a pilot and two passengers, can 
fly across country for several hours without descending, 
at a speed in excess of that of the fastest motor-car. 
An aeroplane can now soar aloft until it hovers more 
than two miles above 1 the earth ; and, instead of being 
chained to the ground by every breeze that blows, a 
skilled pilot can now fly with safety in a wind blowing 
at a velocity oi twenty-five miles. an hour, while, if the 
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need is exceptionally urgent, he can keep aloft, 
without accident in a wind of thirty, and 
even thirty-five, miles an hour. 

Thus the range of the aeroplane's poten- 
tialities has been immeasurably widened. 
Therefore, wise men, far-seeing men, smile 
no longer when the war aeroplane comes 
under discussion. Nor do wise Governments, 
for it is in regard to their uses in military 
operations that the recent developments of 
air-craft have had most significance. From 
being frail, unreliable machines, usable only 
under ideal conditions, they have been im- 
proved so enormously that they are now strong 
and efficient, and able to take the air in any 
wind short of a gale. 

These facts — for they are facts — cannot be 
over-emphasized. They explain the growing 
activities of many nations concerning aerial 
armaments ; they throw the official apathy 
in England into a strong and searching light. 
Why are other countries devoting time and 
money, unstintingly, to strengthening their 
air-corps, increasing the skill of their airmen, 
and perfecting their aerial organization ? 
And why is it that in England sums which 
can only be described as paltry are set aside 
for war aeroplanes and men, and that per- 
meating the official attitude towards this 
new " arm " there is indifference ? 

France knows. When I say this I mean 
that the French military authorities have put 
the aeroplane to every possible test as an 
instrument of war, and have come to many 
vitally important conclusions. What those 
conclusions are may be gathered from the 
recent actions of the French authorities in 
connection with their air forces. It is not 
so long ago that France owned not more than 
twenty war aeroplanes. Now she has, in 
actual use, more than a hundred ; and the 
orders which she has placed with French 
manufacturers will soon increase the total 
of her machines to a hundred and fifty. Nor 
is she to be content with this. By the end 
of 191 1 it is the aim of her military controllers 
to equip a complete air-fleet of two hundred 
machines, with perfectly-trained pilots and 
observers, and an adequate organization of 
mechanicians and repair depots. 

France is embarking upon all this expense 
with enthusiasm, because her military experts 
are absolutely convinced that the aeroplane 
is to prove of a value almost inestimable in 
time of war. There is nothing half-hearted 
about her attitude ; she has made up her 
mind. M. Berteaux, her new War Minister, 
made this declaration publicly and with all 
possible emphasis : " The aeroplane has 


become the most admirable of modern engines 
of war" These were strong words for a 
War Minister to use. But France, as I have 
said, who has had more experience than any 
other nation in regard to war aeroplanes — 
France knows t 

We in England are following a policy that 
is not, apparently, any real policy at all. 
We have had practically no experience of 
war aeroplanes, and yet we discount their 
value. Whereas France knows, and is en- 
thusiastic, we do not know — and are apathetic. 
Some military experts in this country, who 
have taken upon themselves to belittle the 
aeroplane as a war weapon, have not been 
competent to do so. In this lies our peril — 
we merely think we know. We are making 
judgments regarding war aeroplanes which 
are formed upon theory, and not upon 

One cannot refrain from quoting the recent 
pronouncement of Major Sir Alexander 
Bannerman, which caused a sensation in 
aeronautical circles in this country, seeing 
that the speaker is now the officer in command 
of our military air battalion. Speaking de- 
liberately, at the annual dinner of the Royal 
Aero Club, Sir Alexander Bannerman said : 
St In my opinion the aeroplane is Yiot very far 
ahead, for military purposes, of what it was 
at the time of Wilbur Wright's first flight." 

This statement, mark you, was made in 
face of an eight-hour flight by an aeroplane ; 
in face of frequent one-hundred-mile recon- 
noitring flights by French officers ; in face 
of the fact that Mr. Sopwith, an English air- 
man who was present at the dinner, had 
flown, a month previously, upon a British- 
built machine, from England into Belgium — 
a non-stop flight of a hundred and sixty-nine 

I have spoken of the significant activity in 
France. Now let me cite the examples set 
us by other countries. Russia, awakening 
quickly to the value of the aeroplane for war 
work, intends to spend nine hundred thousand 
pounds upon military aeroplanes. She has, 
as a matter of fact, set about the creation, 
immediately, of a fleet of three hundred 
machines. Russian officers are being trained 
to pilot aeroplanes and to observe from them, 
in large numbers, not only in Russia, but at 
the " schools " in France. 

And what about Germany, who is ever 
shrewd and watchful in regard to all ques- 
tions of military armament ? Her attitude 
in connection with the aeroplane is more than 
instructive. Immediately a war machine 
emerged froij^jfll^ experimental into the 



practical stage the German War Office bought 
forty special monoplanes and began to train 
officers to fly — generally in secret , and with 
great expedition. As a matter of fact, 
German airmen are now being trained in 
batches of fifty at a time. Although she 
began to interest herself in war aeroplanes 
only at a comparatively recent date, Germany 
has already increased her forty monoplanes 




If it is good enough for these experienced 
countries to spend thousands of pounds, why 
should it be sufficient for us to spend 
hundreds ? 

There is, I am given to understand, one 
supposition which excuses our official apathy* 
It is that we can make up lost ground in 
military aviation at any time, merely by 
spending a large amount of money. No 
supposition could be more fatally foolish. 
We can do no such thing. Even this un- 
dignified poltry is denied us. It is true that 
a large number of war aeroplanes could be 
bought in a great hurry t if necessary, and that 
all the mechanical incidentals of an air- 
service could be rapidly 

But there is one abso- 
lutely vital factor in an 
efficient military air-corps 
that no money in the world 




EUROPE A \ T PO W E k S . 

to close upon a hundred machines, represent- 
ing all the best types for military use^ and 
she is still ordering more. 

While all these other countries are buying 
aeroplanes in consignments of fifty and a 
hundred j and are training men unsparingly 
to become efficient in handling this new 
weapon of war, what is it, actually, that we 
are doing ? 

We have acquired ten military aeroplanes, 
at least two of which are obsolete, and we 
have made no plans at all as regards buying 
any more, We have two or three officers as 
expert airmen in connection with the air 
battalion ; and there is an intention, I 
believe, to train a few more during the 
summer, How does this compare with the 
activities in France, Germany, and Russia ? 

Digitized by GOOglC 

could buy. That factor is represented 
by the priceless experience which France 
and Germany have acquired, not in the 
mere spending of money, but by assiduous 
experimenting in all practical forms of aerial 
work. We in England are at least a year 
behind these two countries in the development 
of the war aeroplane ; and this year is repre- 
sented also by extraordinarily important 
pioneer work. During this wonderful year 
of progress other countries have learned 
lessons that — even if we bought to-day an 
air-fleet numerically equal to theirs — would 
enable them to be infinitely our superiors in 
the performance of all aerial operations. 

So far 1 have shown what other nations are 
doing, in comparison with the little that we 
are doing ; and 1 think the case that 1 have 



made out is a pretty definite one. Having 
thus cleared the ground, so to speak, one can 
approach the crux of the situation. It is 
contained in the question : " What are we 
losing by this official apathy ? " 

The answer to this question is a simple one. 
The present-type scouting aeroplane — usable 
in high winds and mechanically almost as 
reliable as a motor-car — forms, with wireless 
telegraphy as its adjunct, the most perfect 
" eye " that the commander-in-chief of an 
army could possibly obtain. 

In modern warfare a commander of troops 
is always seeking, as it has been aptly put, 
" to see what is going on upon the other side 
of a hill." Information regarding the move- 
ments of his opponent are vital to him. With 
a thoroughly efficient air-corps he can see 
what his opponent is doing — has an oppor- 
tunity of anticipating the enemy's moves. 
A modern reconnoitring aeroplane, carrying 
its steersman, engineer, and observer, with 
an ability to rise from three thousand to five 
thousand feet, as the requirements of the 
situation demand, can see what is on the other 
side of all hills ; and it can, furthermore, 
flash back its news by wireless without an 
instant's delay. 

A commander who is not supplied with 
scouting aeroplanes will need to rely upon 
cavalry to do his reconnoitring for him, or 
use other and more indirect means of com- 
munication. It is now a fact well recognized 
by military experts, both in France and in 
Germany, that aeroplane scouts can perform 
in an hour observation work that would 
occupy cavalry a whole day — and can do it 
more efficiently. 

In making such statements as this I am not 
quoting what is mere surmise. In France, 
since the military air-corps was placed on a 
practical footing, long-distance reconnoitring 
flights have been made almost daily. It is 
now no uncommon thing at Government air- 
stations for a pilot and an observer to start 
away upon an army biplane and remain in 
the air for a couple of hours, surveying a wide 
tract of country and bringing back an accu- 
rately made-out map, or a series of notes 
describing all that the reconnoitring officer 
has seen. 

Regarding wireless telegraphy from aero- 
planes, the importance of this innovation is 
now well recognized both in France and in 
Germany. Tests with military machines have 
recently been carried out at the aerodrome 
at Buc, in France. Although precise details 
of the equipment used did not, naturally, 
become known, I have been able to ascertain 

that, with ar exceedingly portable apparatus, 
messages have been transmitted from an 
aeroplane in flight to a receiving station on the 
ground over a distance of ten miles. This 
intelligence will be carried to headquarters 
without any <bf the delay occasioned by the 
flying back arjid landing of the aeroplane. 

We have received lessons enough to indicate 
the value otk the war aeroplane. It has 
become, indeed, an axiom of modern war that 
even a poor sftrategist, armed with complete 
information regarding the movements of an 
opponent prior to a decisive action, will be 
in a very good ^position to triumph over a far 
more clever conn zander — providing the latter 
has not been welKserved by his reconnoitring 
staff. And yet weVhesitate — even in face of 
these object-lessons, Provided practically every 
day by other countrie\^ 

So far I have dealt wVith the war aeroplane 
from its purely scoutingV point of view. But 
there is now another \jaspect of the war 
machine. At first this peVril— for peril it is— 
was a negligible quantit>V; # but with every 
recent improvement madeU in the aeroplane 
for military purposes this Vperil has become 
more real. I refer to the destructive poten- 
tialities of the weight-cariWing machines 
which are now being constructed. 

In the early days of the development of 
flying it was considered a wond< hrful thing if 
a machine could be constructevid to lift a 
passenger into the air, in addition to the 
pilot. But by degrees the wei<Wht-lifting 
capacity of machines has enormously in- 
creased. It is possible to-day for a mag chine to 
be built to carry a pilot, an engineer,Vand an 
appreciable load of explosives in the fo^rm of 
bombs, and fly thus laden for several rigours 
at a very high rate of speed. \- 

As a matter of fact, machines of this ty T>e 
are already being constructed— not inEnglan^i, 
as one might imagine, but abroad. PerhapJ^ 
a striking object-lesson in this connection may ^ 
be permitted, without one's being accused of T 
" scaremongering " tendencies. Personally, I 
should be almost willing to run the risk of 
being described as a panic -raiser were it 
possible, by alarming people, to arouse 
England from her apathy regarding the 
aerial menace. 

This, then, is an object-lesson for those 
people who still persist in smiling when the 
war aeroplane is spoken of. A thousand 
weight-lifting machines of modern construc- 
tion could leave foreign soil to-morrow, could 
make their way by air till they hovered over 
London, could drop explosives, or incendiary 
bombs, to the weight of more than 


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hundred tons upon the streets and buildings 
of the city, and could fly back again to their 
Starting-point, without once havi 

,n g „«d » 

descend- This, I know, is a form of 
warfare that has for years past been 
the happy hun Imp-ground of imagi- 
native writers. Well, all one can 
say now is that suc:h a form of aerial 
attack has ceased to be a matter of 
J I- -lion. It has become a fact. Not 
with machines that foreign armies 
may possess, say, in five years* time, 
but with aeroplanes that they are 
building to-day, could such a form 
of attack be delivered. 

And we cannot comfort ourselves 
even with the thought that such an 
aerial invasion would only be possible 
in weather that was perfectly calm* 
It could be carried out lo-day in 
quite a high wind ; and, as the speed 
of machines increases, it will soon 
become possible to make such a 
flight in half a gale. 

Are such facts as these properly 
realized in England ? I am afraid 
they cannot be, or there would be 
far greater interest in this question 
of aerial warfare. Have we any 
plans for dealing with such a form of 
attack ? I have certainly heard of 
none. It is not as though the war 
aeroplane were now at the point of 
its highest development- Quite the 
reverse is the case. As it exists 
to-day, wonderful instrument though 
it has become, it is little more than 
a crude, experimental machine. It 
is, indeed, merely upon the threshold 
of its real development for military 

As each year goes by this peril of 
the destructive potentialities of the 
aeroplane will increase. Its scouting 
powers will improve also. The longer 
we delay in England in regard to 
placing ourselves abreast of other nations in 
aerial armaments the worse our position will be. 
There is QiSriwrj&l^fH^ point also that I 




have not yet touched upon. The aeroplane 
is not an expensive weapon. From the 
military point of view, such a statement as 
this has great importance. Let me take a 
practical example to illustrate what I mean. 
A Dreadnought costs, let us say, a million 
and a quarter. For an expenditure of this 
amount any country could provide itself 
with a couple of thousand aeroplanes ! 

This means, as I have said, a great deal. 
It means that in future warfare the aeroplane 
will not be employed in units, but in large 
squadrons. Many people still think of the 
aeroplane, even for military purposes, as a 
machine to be used in twos and threes. But 
France, Germany, and Russia have ceased 
to make this mistake. They are laying their 
plans for the eventual employment of war 
machines, not in fifties, or even in hundreds, 
but in thousands. Costing so little, and being 
so quickly built, the aeroplane is an ideal 
machine, in fact, for use in large numbers. 
And it will not be so much for reconnoitring 
as for destructive work that these large 
squadrons of machines will be created and 

Imagine the effect produced by a couple of 
thousand machines, all designed for offensive 
work, dropping bombs, by concerted action, 
upon the supply stores of an enemy, or setting 
out to harass troops on the march, or deliver- 
ing some night attack upon a chosen position. 
Considered individually, it is true that the 
aeroplane has an insignificant importance 
from the offensive point of view ; but when 
the work of large numbers of these machines 
is taken into consideration, a very different 
tale is to be told. 

I am afraid, though, thattsuch facts as these 
are not considered worthy of very serious con- 
sideration in official circles in this country. 
In face of the strenuous efforts made by other 
countries, our War Office remains indifferent. 
Perhaps, in using such a sentence, I am not 
quite expressing my meaning, however. I 
may be told, for instance, that a great deal 
of official interest is really being taken in this 
subject, and that all the work of foreign 
countries is being carefully watched. 

In fact, in a recent semi-official revealing 
of policy on this subject the War Office 
represented itself as following a very straight- 
forward, if conservative, policy. It would 
buy a few machines ; it would train a few 
officers ) it would test aeroplanes in the 

manoeuvres. It was fully alive to all that was 
going on. This was the policy described. I 
imagine that it may have satisfied some very 
easily-pleased people. 

But it had, in my view, and in the view of 
other practical airmen, one very serious flaw. 
It spells the wasting of much precious time 
—time that we cannot afford to waste. It 
means that, while other countries are adding 
to their air-fleets in hundreds, and are training 
large and efficient forces of pilots and ob- 
servers, we shall be pottering along with 
a minimum of machines and men, con- 
tent to watch the progress of other nations, 
and profit, so far as possible, by their 

Such a role is not to the credit of a great 
nation like ours. Besides any question of 
dignity, it is not, as I have shown, a feasible 
one. Without airmen and observers for 
military work we are helpless. A first-class 
military pilot will take practically a year to 
make thoroughly efficient in all branches of 
his work. Aerial observers cannot be trained 
quickly, either. They are, to a certain extent 
also, born, and not made. Therefore the War 
Office policy is not the right one. It attaches 
no particular importance to the wasting of 
six precious months in dilatory, unambitious 
test work. And yet, in such six months of 
wasted opportunity, France and Germany will 
be increasing their advantage over us in all 
departments of an air-service. 

Despite the fact that we are woefully behind, 
we are, apparently, to put forth no drastic 
efforts to make up our leeway. Instead, we are 
to lag even farther in the rear. That is to say, 
we are to fall back in the race for aerial 
supremacy unless Government apathy can be 
dispelled by the arousing of public interest 
in the war aeroplane. This interest I and 
others have decided to make it our business 
to stimulate in every possible way. 

In the manoeuvres this September civilian 
airmen will play a part. In many other ways 
also — such as the effective demonstration of 
military airmanship given at Hendon on 
May 1 2th, when Mr. Balfour and Mr. 
McKenna both made flights with me — we 
shall find it possible to give the Government 
and the public object-lessons of the value of 
this new " arm." 

A " live " and constructive aerial policy 
is urgently needed — and a constructive policy 
England must have. 

by Google 

Original from 

Tke Best S 



Illustrated by Rene Bull. 




VE HENDRIE sat up in bed. 
For two hours she had been, 
trying to get to sleep, but 
without success. Never in 
her life had she felt more 
There were two reasons for 
this. Her mind was disturbed, and she was 
very hungry. Neither sensation was novel 
to her. Since first she had become paid com- 
panion to Mrs. Rastall-Retford there had 
hardly been a moment when she had not 
been hungry. Some time before Mrs. Rastall- 
Retford's doctor had recommended to that 
lady a Spartan diet, and in this Eve, as com- 
panion, had unwillingly to share. It was not 
pleasant for either of them, but at least Mrs. 
Rastall-Retford had the knowledge that she 
had earned it by years of honest self-indul- 
gence. Eve had not that consolation. 

Meagre fare, moreover, had the effect of 
accentuating Mrs. Rastall-Retford's always 
rather pronounced irritability. She was a 
massive lady, with a prominent forehead, 
some half-dozen chins, and a manner towards 
those in her employment which would have 
been resented in a second mate A by the crew 
of a Western ocean tramp. Even at her best 
she was no ray of sunshine about the house. 
And since the beginning of the self-denying 
ordinance she had been at her worst. 

But it was not depression induced by her 
employer that was disturbing Eve. That 
was a permanent evil. What was agitating 
her so extremely to-night was the unexpected 
arrival of Peter Rayner. 

It was Eve's practice to tell herself several 
times a day that she had no sentiment for 
Peter Rayner but dislike. She did not at- 
tempt to defend her attitude logically, but 
nevertheless she clung to it, and to-night, 
when he entered the drawing-room, she had 
endeavoured to convey by her manner that 
it was only with the greatest difficulty that 
she remembered him at all, and that, having 
accomplished that feat, she now intended to 
forget him again immediately. And he had 
grinned a cheerful, affectionate grin, and 
beamed on her without a break till bedtime. 
Before coming as companion to Mrs. 
Rastall-Retford Eve had been governess to 

Vol. xiiL-2. 

Hildebrand, aged six, the son of a Mrs. 
Elphinstone. It had been, on the whole, a 
comfortable situation. She had not liked 
Mrs. Elphinstone, but Hildebrand had been 
docile, and altogether life was quite smooth 
and pleasant until Mrs. Elphinstone's brother 
came for a visit. Peter Rayner was that 

There is a type of man who makes love with 
the secrecy and sheepish reserve of a cowboy 
shooting up a Wild West saloon. To this 
class Peter belonged. He fell in love with 
Eve at sight, and if, at the end of the first 
day, there was anyone in the house who was 
not aware of it, it was only Hildebrand, aged 
six. And even Hildebrand must have had 
his suspicions. 

Mrs. Elphinstone was among the first to 
become aware of it. For two days, frostily 
silent and gimlet-like as to the eye, she ob- 
served Peter's hurricane wooing from afar ; 
then she acted. Peter she sent to London, 
pacifying him with an invitation to return 
to the house in the following week. This 
done, she proceeded to eliminate Eve. In 
the course of the parting interview she ex- 
pressed herself perhaps a little less guardedly 
than was either just or considerate ; and Eve, 
flushed and at war with the whole race of 
Rayners, departed that afternoon to seek a 
situation elsewhere. She had found it at the 
house of Mrs. Rastall-Retford. 

And now this evening, as she sat in the 
drawing-room playing the piano to her em- 
ployer, in had walked the latter's son, a tall, 
nervous young man, perpetually clearing his 
throat and fiddling with a pair of gold-rimmed 
glasses, with the announcement that he had 
brought his friend, Mr. Rayner, to spend a few 
days in the old home. 

Eve could still see the look on Peter's face 
as, having shaken hands with his hostess, he 
turned to her. It was the look of the cowboy 
who, his weary ride over, sees through the 
dusk the friendly gleam of the saloon windows, 
and with a happy sigh reaches for his revolver. 
There could be no two meanings to that look. 
It said, as clearly as if he had shouted it, that 
this was no accidental meeting ; that he had 
tracked her do«rn And proposed to resume 
matters a/t the point where Lhey had left off. 



Eve was indignant. It was abominable 
that he should' pursue her in this way. She 
sat thinking how abominable it was for five 
minutes; and then it suddenly struck her 
that she was hungrier than ever. She had 
forgotten her material troubles for the 
moment. It seemed to her now that she was 
quite faint with hunger. 

A cuckoo-clock outside the door struck one. 
Ami, a$ it did so, it came to Eve that on the 
sideboard in the dining-room there were 

A moment later she was creeping softly 
down the stairs, 

It was dark and ghostly on the stairs. The 
house was full of noises. She was glad when 

" Don't — don't move. I'm pointing a 
pistol at you." 

The man did not move, 

" Foolish child [*" he said, indulgently* 
" Suppose it went off I " 

She uttered an exclamation of surprise. 

" You ! What are 
you doing here, Mr, 
Rayner ? " 


she reached the dining-room* It would be 
pleasant to switch on the light. She pushed 
open the door, and uttered a cry. The light 
was already switched on, and at the table, 
his back to her 3 was a man. 

There was no time for flight. He must 
have heard the door open. In another 
moment he would turn and spring. 

She spoke tremulously. 

She moved into the room, and her relief 
changed swiftly into indignation- On the 
table were half a chicken, a loaf, some cold 
potatoes, and a bottle of beer. 

li I'm eating, thank goodness ! " said 
Peter, helping himself to a cold potato. " I 
had begun to think I never should again/' 

" Eating Original from 

" E^^^ERSI^af^MHItiP^nsibiUty and 



refinement ought to shrink from raiding his 
hostess's larder in the small hours, but 
hunger's death to the finer feelings. It's the 
solar plexus punch which puts one's better 
self down and out for the count of ten. I am 
a large and healthy young man, and, believe 
me, I need this little snack. I need it badly. 
May I cut you a slice of chicken ? " 

She could hardly bear to look at it, but 
pride gave her strength. 

" No," she snapped. 

" You're sure ? Poor little thing ; I know 
you're half starved." 

Eve stamped. 

" How dare you speak to me like that, 
Mr. Rayner ? " 

He drank bottled beer thoughtfully. 

" What made you come down ? I suppose 
you heard a noise and thought it was 
buiglars ? " he said. 

" Yes," said Eve, thankfully accepting the 
idea. At all costs she must conceal the 
biscuit motive. 

" That was very plucky of you. Won't 
you sit down ? " 

" No, I'm going back to bed." 

" Not just yet. I've several things to talk 
to you about. Sit down. That's right. 
Now cover up your poor little pink ankles, 
or you'll be catching " 

She started up. 

" Mr. Rayner ! " 

" Sit down." 

She looked at him defiantly, then, wonder- 
ing at herself for doing it, sat down. 

" Now," said Peter, " what do you mean 
by it? What do you mean by dashing. off 
from my sister's house without leaving a 
word for me as to where you were going ? 
You knew I loved you." 

" Good night, Mr. Rayner." 

" Sit down. You've given me a great 
deal of trouble. Do you know it cost me a 
sovereign in tips to find out your address ? 
I couldn't get it out of my sister, and I had 
to apply to the butler. I've a good mind to 
knock it off your first week's pin-money." 

" I shall not stay here listening " 

" You knew perfectly well I wanted to 
marry you. But you fly off without a word 
and bury yourself in this benighted place 
with a gorgon who nags and bullies you " 

"A nice way to speak of your hostess," 
said Eve, scornfully. 

" A very soothing way. I don't think I 
ever took such a dislike to a woman at first 
sight before. And when she started to 

bullyrag you, it was all I could do But it 

won't last long now. You must come away 

at once. We'll be married after Christmas, 
and in the meantime you can go and live 
with my sister " 

Eve listened speechlessly. She had so 
much to say that the difficulty of selection 
rendered her dumb. 

11 When can you start ? I mean, do you 
have to give a month's notice or anything ? " 

Eve got up with a short laugh. 

" Good night, Mr. Rayner," she said. 
" You have been very amusing, but I am 
getting tired." 

" I'm glad it's all settled," said Peter. 
" Good night." 

Eve stopped. She could not go tamely 
away without saying a single one of the things 
that crowded in her mind. 

" Do you imagine," she said, " that I 
intend to marry you ? Do you suppose, for 
one moment " 

" Rather ! " said Peter. " You shall have 
a splendid time from now on, to make up for 
all you've gone through. I'm going to be 
awfully good to you, Eve. You sha'n't ever 
have any more worries, poor old thing." He 
looked at her affectionately. " I wonder why 
it is that large men always fall in love with 
little women. There are you, a fragile, 
fairy-like, ethereal wisp of a little creature \ 
and here am I " 

" A great, big, greedy pig I " burst out 
Eve, " who thinks about nothing but eating 
and drinking." 

" I wasn't going to have put it quite like 
that," said Peter, thoughtfully. 

" I hate a greedy man," said Eve, between 
her teeth. 

" I have a healthy appetite," protested 
Peter. " Nothing more. It runs in the 
family. At the time of the Civil War the 
Rayner of the period, who was King Charles's 
right-hand man, would frequently eat des- 
patches to prevent them falling into the hand? 
of the enemy. He was noted for it." 

Eve reached the door and turned. 

" I despise you," she said. 

" Good night," said Peter, tenderly. " To- 
morrow morning we'll go for a walk." 

His prediction proved absolutely correct. 
He was smoking a cigarette after breakfast 
when Eve came to him. Her face was pink 
and mutinous, but there was a gleam in her 

" Are you ready to come out, Mr. Rayner ? " 
she said. " Mrs. Rastall-Retford says I'm to 
take you to see the view from the golf links." 

11 You'll like that," said Peter. 

" I shall not like it/' snapped Eve. " But 



Mrs. Rastall-Retford is paying me a salary to 
do what she tells mc } and I have to earn it*" 

Conversation during the walk consisted 
mainly of a monologue on the part of Peter. 
It was a crisp and exhilarating morning, and 
he appeared to be feeling a universal benevo- 
lence towards all created things. He even 
softened slightly on the subject of Mrs 
Rastal I- Retford, and advanced the theory 
that her peculiar manner might be due to 
her having been ill-treated as a child. 

Eve listened in silenre. It was not till they 
were nearing home on their return journey 
that she spoke, 

4i Mr. Ravner/' she said. 

u Yes ? " said Peter. 

•* I was talking to Mrs. Ras tall- Ret ford 
after breakfast/' said Eve, M and I told 
her something about you." 

"My conscience is dear." 

"Oh, nothing bad. Some 
people would say it 
was very much to your 
credit." She looked 
away across the fields. 

" I told her you were a vegetarian/' she 
added j carelessly. 

There was a long silence. Then Peter 
spoke three words, straight from the heart. 

" You little devil 1 " 

Eve turned and looked at him, her eyes 
sparkling wickedly. 

" You see I ?1 she said, " Now perhaps you 
will go." 

Never ! " 

you ? " said Peter, stoutly* 



"In London you will 
be able to eat all day— 
anything you like. You 
will be able to creep 
about your club gnaw- 
ing told diirkin all 
night. But if you stay 
here " | 

;^oi. have got a 



said Peter, " If I crept about my club gnaw- 
ing cold chicken I should have the committee 
after me. No, I shall stay here and look after 
you. After all, what is food ? " 

11 I'll tell you what yours will be, if you 
Uke. Or would you rather wait and let it be 
a surprise ? Well, for lunch you will have 
some boiled potatoes and cabbage and a 
sweet — a sort of light souffli thing. And for 
dinner " 

" Yes, but one moment," said Peter. " If 
I'm a vegetarian, how did you account for my 
taking all the chicken I could get at dinner 
last night, and looking as if I wanted more ? " 

" Oh, that was your considerateness. You 
didn't want to give trouble, even if you had 
to sacrifice your principles. But it's all right 
now. You are going to have your vegetables." 

Peter drew a deep breath — the breath of the 
man who braces himself up and thanks what- 
ever gods there be for his unconquerable soul. 

"I don't care," he said. "'A book of 
verses underneath the bough, a jug of wine, 
and thou ' " 

" Oh, and I forgot," interrupted Eve. " I 
told her you were a teetotaller as well." 

There was another silence, longer than the 

" The best train," said Eve, at last, " is the 

He looked at her inquiringly. 

" The best train ? " 

" For London." 

"What makes you think that I am interested 
in trains to London ? " 

Eve bit her lip. 

" Mr. Rayner," she said, after a pause, " do 
you remember at lunch one day at Mrs. 
Elphinstone's refusing parsnips ? You said 
that, so far as you were concerned, parsnips 
were first by a mile, and that prussic acid and 
strychnine also ran." 

44 Well ? " said Peter. 

44 Oh, nothing," said Eve. 44 Only I made 
a stupid mistake. I told the cook you were 
devoted to parsnips. I'm sorry." 

Peter looked at her gravely. 4< I'm putting 
up with a lot for your sake," he said. 

44 You needn't. Why don't you go away ? " 

44 And leave you chained to the rock, 
Andromeda ? Not for Perseus ! I've only 
been here one night, but I've seen enough to 
know that I've got to take you away from this 
place. Honestly, it's killing you. I was 
watching you last night. You're scared if 
that infernal old woman starts to open her 
mouth. She's crushing the life out of you. 
I'm going to stay on here till you say you'll 
marry me, or till they throw me out." 

44 There are parsnips for dinner to-night," . 
said Eve, softly. 

44 1 shall get to like them. They are an 
acquired taste, I expect. Perhaps I am, too. 
Perhaps I am the human parsnip, and you 
will have to learn to love me." 

44 You are the human burr," said Eve, 
shortly. <4 1 shouldn't have thought it 
possible for a man to behave as you are doing." 

In spite of herself, there were moments 
during the next few days when Eve felt 
twinges of remorse. It was only by telling 
herself that he had no right to have followed 
her to this house, and that he was at perfect 
liberty to leave whenever he wished, that she 
could harden her heart again. And even this 
reflection was not entirely satisfactory, for it 
made her feel how fond he must be of her to 
endure these evils for her sake. 

And there was no doubt about there being 
evils. It was a dreary house in which to 
spend winter days. There were no books that 
one could possibly read. The nearest railway 
station was five miles away. There was not 
even a dog to talk to. Generally it rained. 
Though Eve saw little of Peter, except at 
meals and in the drawing-room after dinner — 
for Mrs. Rastall-Retford spent most of the 
day in her own sitting-room and required Eve 
to be at her side — she could picture his suffer- 
ings, and, try as she would, she could not keep 
herself from softening a little. Her pride was 
weakening. Constant attendance on her 
employer was beginning to have a bad effect 
on her nerves. Association in a subordinate 
capacity with Mrs. Rastall-Retford did not 
encourage a proud and spirited outlook on life. 

Her imagination had not exaggerated 
Peter's sufferings. Many people consider 
that Dante has spoken the last word on the 
subject of the post-mortem housing of the 
criminal classes. Peter, after the first week 
of his visit, could have given him a few new 

It is unpleasant to be half starved. It is 
unpleasant to be cooped up in a country- 
house in winter with nothing to do. It is 
unpleasant to have to sit at meals and listen 
to the only girl you have ever really loved 
being bullyragged by an old lady with six 
chins. And all these unpleasantnesses were 
occurring to Peter simultaneously. It is 
highly creditable to him that the last should 
completely have outweighed the others. 

He was generally alone. Mr. Rastall- 
Retford, who would have been better than 
nothing as a companion, was a man who 
enjoyed solitude. HelbHISAN confirmed 



vanisher. He would be present at one 
moment, the next he would have glided 
silently away. And, even on the rare 
occasions when he decided not to vanish, he 
seldom did much more than clear his throat 
nervously and juggle with his pince-nez. 

Peter, in his boyhood, had been thrilled 
once by a narrative of a man who got stuck 
in the Sargasso Sea. It seemed to him now 
that the monotony of the Sargasso Sea had 
been greatly exaggerated. 

Nemesis was certainly giving Peter his due. 
He had wormed his way into the Rastall- 
Retford home-circle by grossly deceitful 
means. The mQment he heard that Eve 
had gone to live with Mrs. Rastall-Retford, 
and had ascertained that the Rastall-Retford 
with whom he had been at Cambridge and 
whom he still met occasionally at his club 
when he did not see him first, was this lady's 
son, he had set himself to court young Mr. 
Rastall-Retford. He had cornered him at 
the club and begun to talk about the dear 
old 'Varsity days, ignoring the embarrass- 
ment of the latter, whose only clear recollec- 
tion of the dear old 'Varsity days as linking 
Peter and himself was of a certain bump- 
supper night, when sundry of the festive, 
led and inspired by Peter, had completely 
wrecked his rooms and shaved off half a 
growing moustache. He conveyed to young 
Mr. Rastall-Retford the impression that, in 
the dear old 'Varsity days, they had shared 
each other's joys and sorrows, and, generally, 
had made Damon and Pythias look like a 
pair of cross-talk knockabouts at one of the 
rowdier music-halls. Not to invite so old a 
friend to stay at his home, if he ever happened 
to be down that way, would, he hinted, be 
grossly churlish. Mr. Rastall-Retford, im- 
pressed, issued the invitation. And now 
Peter was being punished for his deceit. 
Nemesis may not be an Alfred Shrubb, but 
give her time and she gets there. 

It was towards the middle of the second 
week of his visit that Eve, coming into the 
drawing-room before dinner, found Peter 
standing in front of the fire. They had not 
been alone together for several days. 

u Well ? " said he. 

Eve went to the fire and warmed her hands. 

" Well ? " she said, dispiritedly. 

She was feeling nervous and ill. Mrs. 
Rastall-Retford had been in one of her more 
truculent moods all day, and for the first 
time Eve had the sensation of being tho- 
roughly beaten. She dreaded the long hours 
to bedtime. The thought that there might 

be bridge after dinner made her feel physically 
ill. She felt she could not struggle through 
a bridge night. 

On the occasions when she was in one of 
her dangerous moods, Mrs. Rastall-Retford 
sometimes chose rest as a cure, sometimes 
relaxation. Rest meant that she retired to 
her room immediately after dinner, and ex- 
pended her venom on her maid ; relaxation 
meant bridge, and bridge seemed to bring out 
all her worst points. They played the game 
for counters at her house, and there had been 
occasions in Eve's experience when the loss of 
a hundred or so of these useful little adjuncts 
to Fun in the Home had lashed her almost 
into a frenzy. She was one of those bridge 
players who keep up a running quarrel with 
Fate during the game, and when she was not 
abusing Fate she was generally reproaching 
her partner. Eve was always her partner ; 
and to-night she devoutly hoped that her 
employer would elect to rest* She always 
played badly with Mrs. Rastall-Retford, 
through sheer nervousness. Once she had 
revoked, and there had been a terrible moment 
and much subsequent recrimination. 

Peter looked at her curiously. 

" You're pale to-night," he said. 

" I have a headache." 

" H'm ! How is our hostess ? Fair ? Or 
stormy ? " 

" As I was passing her door I heard her 
bullying her maid, so I suppose stormy." 

" That means a bad time for you ? " he 
said, sympathetically. 

" I suppose so. If we play bridge. But 
she may go to bed directly after dinner." 

She tried to keep her voice level, but he 
detected the break. 

" Eve," he said, quickly, " won't you let 
me take you away from here ? You've no 
business in this sort of game. You're not 
tough enough. You've got to be loved and 
made a fuss of and " 

She laughed shakily. 

" Perhaps you can give me the address of 
some lady who wants a companion to love 
and make a fuss of ? " 

" I can give you the address of a man." 

She rested an arm on the mantelpiece and 
stood looking into the blaze, without replying. 

Before he could speak again there was a 
step outside the door, and Mrs. Rastall- 
Retford rustled into the room. 

Eve had not misread the storm-signals. 
Her employer's mood was still as it had been 
earlier in the day. Dinner passed in almost 
complete silence. Mrs. Rastall-Retford sat 
brooding dumbly. Her eye was cold and 




menacing, and Peter, working his way through 
his vegetables, shuddered for Eve. He had 
understood her allusion to bridge, having 
been privileged several times during his stay 
to see his hostess play that game, and he 
hoped that there would be no bridge to- night. 
And this was unselfish of him, for bridge 
meant sandwiches, Punctually at nine 
o'clock on bridge nights the butler would 
deposit on a side-table a plate of chicken 
sandwiches and (in deference to Peter's vege- 
tarian views) a smaller plate of cheese sand- 

wiches* At the close of play Mrs. Rastall- 
Retford would take one sandwich from each 
platej drink a thimbleful of weak whisky and 
water, and retire. 

Peter could always do with a sandwich 
or two these days. But he w^as pre- 
pared to abandon them joyfully 
if his hostess would waive bridge 
for this particular evening. 

It was not to be. In the draw- 
ing-room Mrs Ras tail-Ret ford 
came out of her trance and 
called injuriously for the cards, 
Peter, when he saw his hand 
after the first deal, 
had a presentiment 
that if all his hands 
were to be as good 
as this, the evening 
was going to be a 
trying one. On the 
other occasions 
when they had 
played he had 
found it an ex- 
tremely difficult 
task , even with 
moderate cards, to 
bring it about that 
his hostess should 
always win the odd 
rubber, for he was 
an excellent player, 
and, like most good 
players, had an 
artistic conscience 
which made it pain- 
ful to him to play a 
deliberately bad 
game, even from the 
best motives. If all 
his hands were going 
to he as strong as this 
first one he saw that 
there was disaster 
ahead. He could not 
help winning. 
Mrs. Rastall-Retford, who had dealt the 
first hand, made a most improper diamond 
declaration. Her son unfilially doubled, and. 
Eve having chicane — a tragedy which her 
partner evidently seemed to consider could 
have been avoided by the exercise of ordinary 
common sense — Peter and his partner, despite 
Peter's best efforts, won the game handsomely. 
The son of the house dealt the next hand. 
Eve sorted her cards listlessly. She was 

JSS iMi-#fT^-MiMG.?Fr seemed 



This hand, as the first had done, went all 
in favour of the two men. Mr. Rastall- 
Retford won five tricks in succession, and, 
judging from the glitter in his mild eye, was 
evidently going to win as many more as he 
possibly could. Mrs. Rastall-Retford glowered 
silently. There was electricity in the air. 

The son of the house led a club. Eve 
played a card mechanically. 

" Have you no clubs, Miss Hendrie ? " 

Eve started, and looked at her hand. 

" No," she said. 

Mrs. Rastall-Retford grunted suspiciously. 

Not long ago, in Westport, Connecticut, 
U.S.A., a young man named Harold Sperry, 
a telephone worker, was boring a hole m the 
wall of a house with a view to passing a wire 
through it. He whistled joyously as he 
worked. He did not know that he had selected 
for purposes of perforation the exact spot 
where there lay, nestling in the brickwork, a 
large leaden water-pipe. The first intimation 
he had of that fact was when a jet of water 
suddenly knocked him fifteen feet into a rose- 

As Harold felt then, so did Eve now, when, 
examining her hand once more to make certain 
that she had no clubs, she discovered the ace 
of that ilk peeping coyly out from behind the 
seven of spades. 

Her face turned quite white. It is never 
pleasant to revoke at bridge, but to Eve just 
then it seemed a disaster beyond words. She 
looked across at her partner. Her imagina- 
tion pictured the scene there would be ere 
long, unless 

It happens every now and then that the 
human brain shows in a crisis an unwonted 
flash of speed. Eve's did at this juncture. 
To her in her trouble there came a sudden idea. 

She looked round the table. Mr. Rastall- 
Retford, having taken the last trick, had 
gathered it up in the introspective manner 
of one planning big coups, and was brooding 
tensely, with knit brows. His mother was 
frowning over her cards. She was unobserved. 

She seized the opportunity. She rose from 
her seat, moved quickly to the side-table, 
and, turning her back, slipped the fatal card 
dexterously into the interior of a cheese 

Mrs. Rastall-Retford, absorbed, did not 
notice for an instant. Then she gave tongue. 

" What are you doing, Miss Hendrie ? " 

Eve was breathing quickly. 

" I — I thought that Mr. Rayner might like 
a sandwich. " 

She was at his elbow with the plate. It 
trembled in her hand. 

" A sandwich ! Kindly do not be so 
officious, Miss Hendrie. The idea — in the 

middle of a hand " Her voice died away 

in a resentful mumble. 

Peter started. He had been allowing his 
thoughts to wander. He looked from the 
sandwich to Eve and then at the sandwich 
again. He was puzaried. This had the 
aspect of being an olive-branch — could it be ? 

Could she be meaning ? Or was it a 

subtle insult ? Who could say ? At any 
rate it was a sandwich, and he seized it, with- 
out prejudice. 

" I hope at least you have had the sense to 
remember that Mr. Rayner is a vegetarian, 
Miss Hendrie, ,, said Mrs. Rastall-Retford. 
" That is not a chicken sandwich ? " 

" No," said Eve ; " it is not a chicken 

Peter beamed gratefully. He raised the 
olive-branch, and bit into it with the energy 
of a starving man. And as he did so he 
caught Eve's eye. 

"Miss Hendrie!" cried Mrs. Rastall- 

Eve started violently. 

" Miss Hendrie, will you be good enough 
to play ? The king of clubs to beat. I can't 
think what's the matter with you to-night." 

" I'm very sorry," said Eve, and put down 
the nine of spades. 

Mrs. Rastall-Retford glared. 

" This is absurd," she cried. " You must 
have the ace of clubs. If you have not got 
it, who has ? Look through your hand 
again. Is it there ? " 

" No." 

" Then where can it be ? " 

" Where can it be ? " echoed Peter, taking 
another bite. 

" Why — why," said Eve, crimson, " I — 
I — have only five cards. I ought to have 

" Five ? " said Mrs. Rastall-Retford. 
" Nonsense ! Count again. Have you 
dropped it on the floor ? " 

Mr. Rastall-Retford stooped and looked 
under the table. 

" It is not on the floor," he said. " I 
suppose it must have been missing from the 
pack before I dealt." 

Mrs. Rastall-Retford threw down her cards 
and rose ponderously. It offended her 
vaguely that there seemed to be nobody to 
blame. " I shall go to bed," she said. 

Peter stood before the fire and surveyed 
Eve a,s she sat on the sofa. They were alone 
in tH6"*BOTn,' ^Mrt ' RasUll-Retford having. 



the wake 
began to 

of his 

drifted silently away in 
mother. Suddenly Eve 

He shook his head at her. 

il Thus is considerably sharper than a 
serpent's tooth/' he said. " You should 
be fawning gratefully upon me, not laughing. 
Do you suppose King Charles laughed at my 
ancestor when he ate the despatches ? How- 
ever, for the first time since I 
have been in this house I feel 
as if I had had a square meal" 

Eve became suddenly serious. 
The smile left her face, 

il Mr, Rayner, please don't 
think I'm ungrateful. I 
couldn't help laughing, but I 

She began to trace an intricate pattern on 
the floor with the point of her shoe. 

" I can't imagine why you arc fond of me ! J5 
she said* " I've been very horrid to you." 

M Nonsense. You've been all that's sweet 
and womanly." 

" And I want to tell you why/' she went 
on, " Your — your sister " 

" Ah, I thought as much ! " 

: O 


ran't tell you how grateful I am. You don't 
know what it would have been like if she had 
found out that I had revoked. I did it once 
before, and she kept on about it for days and 
days* It was awful." She shivered. " I 
think you must be right, and my nerves are 

He nodded. 

tL So are you* — to-morrow, by the first 
train, I wonder how soon we can get 
married. Do you know anything about 
special licences?" 

She looked at him curiously. 

u You're very obstinate/' she said. 

M Firm," he corrected. " Firm. Could 
you pack to-night, do you think, and be 
ready for that ten-fifty to-morrow morning ? " 


seemed to be 

11 She — she saw that you 
getting fond of me, and she 

" She would ! ** 

" Said some rather horrid things that — 
hurt," said Eve, in a low voice. 

Peter crossed over to where she sat and 
took her hand, 

" Don't you worry about her/' he said. 
" She's not a bad sort really, but about once 
every six months she needs a brotherly 
talking-to, or she gets above herself- One is 
about due during the next few days," 

He stroked her hand. 

" Fasting," he said, thoughtfully, " clears 
and stimulates the brain, I fancy f shall be 
able to think out some rather special things 
to say to her -^jti^^rrirn 







Every Company mentioned in this article is now, or was at one time, 

actually in existence- 

\ T the course of a recent article 
in The Strand the statement 
was made that British capita! 
differed from the capital of 
foreign countries in that it was 
not timid, British capital- 
ists constantly took risks that 
others would not take, and engaged in over- 
seas adventures that often seemed extrava- 
gant, quixotic, and absurd. Perhaps, when 
one comes to reflect upon it, that is the true 
secret of John Bull's empire. It began with 
the daring and fantastic: money-making ex- 
ploits of Sir John Hawkins on the coasts of 
Guinea and on the Spanish main, and it is 
continued in our own day by the thousand 
and one speculative British syndicates 
whose field of operations cover every 
habitable and uninhabitable part of the 
globe. Not a twelvemonth passes without 
at least a score of these picturesque com- 
panies which disdain the beaten truck of 
commerce and finance being registered at 
Somerset House- Lately, it was the Pieces 
of Eight Syndicate, formed to recover the 
treasure of the Spanish Armada in Tobermory 
Bay, whose operations diverted the world. 
We have also had the Baton Cipher Syndicate, 
dredging the Wye for the precious proofs of 
Shakespeare's futility ; but these, though 
instances of bizarre speculation, are domestic 
affairs, and do not assist in spreading the fame 
and influence of John Bull in foreign parts. 

At the head of all British syndicates in 
antiquity, if not in number, are the nine sepa- 
rate companies which have been formed at 
various times to recover the treasure of the 
redoubtable pirate, Captain Kyd. The story 
of these efforts, extending over two centuries, 
would of itself fill a volume ; and only last 
summer dredging operations were discon- 
tinued near Chester, Nova Scotia, owing to 
temporary lack of funds. The search near 
Bar Harbour, Maine, and in Amboyna still 
continues, and is occasionally whipped up 
into animation by the announcement of a 

substantia] find of spade guineas or the rusty 
lock of one of the long-sought chests. 

A few years back a City syndicate, with a 
modest capital of two thousand five hundred 
pounds, was founded to recover the valuable 
church plate buried by the priests during the 
Brazilian^ occupation of Paraguay, which 
ended some two years before. The story was 
one exciting enough to tempt the adventure 
of a much larger amount of capital. First 
there was the deposition of the last of the 
surviving priests who had been put to death 
by the tyrant Lopez, and the then sole re- 
pository of the secret, stating with a certain 
amount of precision the spot where the church 
plate, to the value of at least five hundred 
thousand dollars, had been buried. The 
whole thing reads like a page out of " Treasure 
Island." Then came the deposition of an 
Englishman, Armstrong, accompanied by 
the more tangible evidence of a solid gold 
communion-cup which he himself had un- 
earthed according to directions. The capital 
was duly forthcoming and spent, but the 
church plate has, up to the present, not 
further been heard of. 

But treasure is of all kinds, as the forty - 
eight different radium discovery companies 
bear witness. Archaeological Finds, Limited, 
denotes, too, another kind of buried treasure. 
Everyone knows the value of Etruscan vases, 
Greek, Roman, and Assyrian bronzes,Tanagra 
figurines, and the thousand and one fragments 
of ancient civilization w r hich are being dug 
out of the earth in Asia Minor. Most of these 
operations are being conducted by Govern- 
ments and learned societies, and the annual 
value of the product is very great, but there 
are a horde of private speculators on the spot 
w T ho manage, or who drive, a very good 

" We need hardly point out," say the pro* 
moters of this company, " that archeology 
has its financial as well as its scientific side, 
and that the profits from excavated stone 
and metal antiques are commensurate with 



l 9 


the public interest in the subject. The 
archaeological societies of the various Govern- 
ments, in spite of their variable finds, have as 
yet merely scratched the surface of the ground. 
jEgean and Mycenaean pottery fetches large 
prices in London , Paris, Berlin, and New York, 
and there are tons of this ware to be had at 
the expenditure of moderate labour. The 
great Ionian cities of Asia Minor are only 
awaiting exploitation, which will repay at 
least two hundred per cent, on the capital 

The agents of the Archaeological Finds 
syndicate scour the country in the vicinity 
now being excavated by British and Conti- 
nental archaeologists, and besides buying 
specimens from the peasants 
of Oiympia, Delphi, Ephesus, 
and Crete, they sometimes 
recover objects of value them- 

" We do," explained one of 
this syndicate's agents, ** a big 
trade in figures, busts, metopes, 
and fragments generally, dis- 
posing of these to smaller 
museums and private col- 
lectors. Our employes are 
not archaeologists, but simply 
bright young men who are in- 
structed to buy anything two 
thousand years old, even if it's 
a mere brick or fragment of 
stone from a temple- On one 
occasion our chief agent wired 
us that he was offered the 
concession of twenty acres pf 

Digitized by VjOOSIC 

land near Assos, supposed to 
be the site of a village, and 
from which a statue had been 
excavated. We wired him to 
go ahead. The price — a high 
one — was paid to the farmer 
and ten men engaged. The 
land was roped off and a British 
flag was stuck up to warn off 
trespassers. They ploughed for 
three weeks, and the only thing, 
except onions, they found was 
a small French cannon dated 
1794. This would have been 
abandoned in disgust, but an 
American coming along with 
more money than archaeological 
knowledge was induced by one 
of the workmen rather too enter- 
prising to believe it was 1794 
b.c. He offered five hundred 
piastres for it, and it was 
shipped out to Chicago as a Greek relic." 

All this seems to point to the formation 
eventually of a large archaeological trust 
whereby the price of bronze and marble 
fragments will become as much inflated as 
are now the paintings of the so-called old 
masters. One notices that the site of one 
of this syndicate's concessions is, appropriately 
enough, at Megalopolis. 

Among other extraordinary trading com- 
panies there is one which does" not deal in 
antiques, but is formed to transact business, 
in an up-to-date way, with antique religions. 
Travellers in the East have long since noted 
that while there continues no lark of reverence 
for the popular portable gods of the country. 





a discriminating taste has sprung up which 
needs to be fostered. Priests, dervishes, and 
fakirs, as well as the common people, are no 
longer satisfied with ill-wrought, light-weight, 
or wooden idols. They know a good artistic 
idol when they see it, and they want plenty 
of them. Formerly a single idol would serve 
for a whole village. Now the demand is, 
one household one idol. Here was a great 
commercial opportunity. A syndicate was 
promptly formed, several good models were 
secured, and Birmingham began to turn out 
idols every whit as good as the real article. 
These are shipped off to various points in the 
East, especially to Burma and Tibet, and 

subjects in less enlightened parts of the 
Empire are at last being given opportunities 
for flag-waving on a scale to suit their ardent 
temperament. Every year, as is well known, 
a large group of natives in Africa and Eastern 
Asia come within the British sphere of in- 
fluence, to whom the visible emblem of the 
British Empire is utterly unknown. These 
new subjects show a great partiality for the 
Union Jack, and each man is desirous of 
having a flag of his own. Even in the older 
Colonies and Protectorates the Union Jack 
is not so easily obtainable as it ought to be, a 
discovery which proved a boon to many 
German traders, who sold half a million yards 


find a ready market. Some of the models 
being really artistic, the native mind readily 
grasps the difference, and, if he cannot spare 
the cash, is always ready to part with his 
own divinity, or supplement it by another 
possessing more taking attributes. There is 
another side to the syndicate's operations. 
After spending a few months, maybe, in the 
native shrines or temples, or even if they 
have not undergone this experience, hundreds, 
and perhaps thousands, of these gods are 
ready to return to the land of their origin, 
where they fetch good prices as curios. No 
one should complain, therefore, if the little 
figure whose awe-inspiring history he is 
relating to a friend should, upon closer in- 
spection, turn out to be a Brummagem 
product of the year a.d. 1909. 

In this Coronation year, when the British 
flag is in such constant evidence, it is inter- 
esting to know that, thanks to the enterprise 
of another group of financiers, our fellow- 

by L^OOgle 

of bunting, two British flags to the yard 
(made in Germany), before the present 
syndicate was formed. It has already proved 
a veritable gold-mine. All over East and 
West Africa the inhabitants of the British 
zone love to consider themselves English, 
and " it would do an Imperialist's heart 
good," says the report, " to see the effect 
of one of our trading expeditions when a 
village on the Senegambian borders has 
purchased twelve hundred Union Jacks, 
which are being waved delightedly in nearly 
as many hands, on the ground, in tree-tops, 
and on hut roofs. The extreme popularity of 
the flag is, of course, due in the first instance 
to its novelty, the majority of even the coast 
negroes never having seen a Union Jack, 
except on the stern of a ship or over the 
British residency." 

Africa, indeed, has always been a favourite 
field for the adventurous trader, or the trading 
adventurer. To bring those blessings of 
Original from 




British civilization, the 
Bible., rum, and the 
rifle, to the benighted 
black was long the aim 
of an army of white 
pioneers. Nowadays 
they work on somewhat 
different lines. The agents 
of different syndicates 
are reaping a fortune out 
of patent medicines, tall 
silk hats, and gramo- 

A large business is 
conducted by the patent- 
medicine trading com- 
panies, for the temptation 
here is often irresistible 
to leave the beaten paths 
of pills and liniments, 
and profit by the credulity and fantastic 
vanity of the blacks. One vender did not 
hesitate to offer a dermatological preparation 
which professed to bleach black skin to a 
Caucasian white, and did such a rushing 
business in this audacious specific that he 
abandoned all his other remedies. 

The agent of another company followed 
suit, and, in order to gain an advantage over 


" White Company." It turned out, however, 
that it was not a caustic, such as is well known 
to exert an effect, but one far from desirable, 
on the skin, but a simple white wash of kalso- 
mine which had been applied* The ci-devant 
darky, upon his metamorphosis (renewed 
daily), assumed all the airs and graces of a 
European, smoking cigarettes and affecting 
to look with scorn on his sable beholders* A 

JUUr^fc^ " 


his rival and to bring conviction to the most 
sceptical, he carried about with him an un- 
happy black who had submitted to the pro- 
cess as a living testimonial to the astounding 
merits of the patent bleaching fluid of the 

by Google 

similar, but perhaps less reprehensible, article 
pushed in Africa by the patent drug companies 
is hair-dye, very popular with both sexes, 
A negress with golden or violent red wool is 
now a common sight amongst the natives. 
Original from 





Many persons have often won- 
dered what became of the millions 
of disused top hats, A large 
number used to go to cabmen and 
various persons who could not 
afford a new hat, but yet were 
led by vanity or obliged by custom 
to sport la haute forme. But the 
bulk has for many years past 
gone to British Colonies and 
dependencies, where the wearing 
of such a dignified accessory often 
made the use of any other article 
of attire unnecessary. But it is 
only lately that this silk-hat trade 
has been systematized, There is 
an enormous field to be covered, and 
the profits are increased since the value of 
second-hand u toppers 5J in England has 
dropped so heavily. They can now be bought 
at from three to five pounds per gross, yet 

their price in South Africa alone 
ranges from four to eight .shillings 
each , this indicating an enormous 
percentage of profit, " There 
are few aboriginal communities 
where a tall silk hat is not a 
coveted adornment/' says the 
prospectus, ( * and the whole 
available supply might be dis- 
posed of many times over. 
General traders often do not 
care to handle them, because of 
the danger of damage and the 
difficulty of packing ; but these 
drawbacks would be remedied 
if the trade were limited to 
special traders.* 1 

G ram ophon c manufacturers 
have for a long time past been 
in the habit of giving con- 





cessions to various companies to " work " 
certain territory, and these companies are 
fast penetrating into all parts of the globe. 
The sale of gramophones in Equatorial Africa, 
in India, China, and the South Sea Islands 

offers a rich 
harvest. One 
trading syndi- 
cate last year 
w o r k e (1 t h e 
Congo exclu- 
sively, with 
results that 
would have 
made the old 
" pocket-knife, 
looking - glass, 
and bead mer- 
chant ,J thrill 
with en v v * 
"The chief 
syndicate^. drawback we 



2 5 

find is still the prime cost of the article and the 
royalty payable to the manufacturers, besides 
the cost of carriage, On the other hand, it is 
an article that everyone who hears must have. 
There is only one taste as yet in these matters, 
ami still a potential market for at least one 
million talking machines on the West Coast," 
** Derelicts, Limited/' is the name of a 
syndicate for the acquisition of old ships, 
boats, and water-craft of every description. 
These are collected in the Thames, patched 
up (frequently the sound timbers or other 
material of two or more vessels being employed 
in the reconstruction of one), and towed to 
various ports where timber and ship-builders 
do not exist. These craft fetch handsome 
sums for all purposes, but largely for the 
Morocco, Algerian, and Tunisian smuggling 
trade. Many an innocent old Yarmouth 
trawler, or even sober Thames barge that has 
passed its middle age in the steady attention 
to duty f has found itself in a whirl of tropical 
excitement, with twenty be whiskered, tur- 
baned pirates in its hold and its hull full of the 
SultarTs bullets. How adventurous illicit 
trading off Morocco can be was told some 
years ago by Major Spills- 
bury, who was dispatched 
from London by one of the 
many British syndicates who 
are prepared to take big 
risks if only adequate profit 
is promised. 

A syndicate on similar 
lines to the foregoing is that 
which deals in obsolete arma- 
ments and War Office stores. 
As is well known, the scrap- 
ping of gun-metal is pursued 
on a huge scale by both our 
Army and Navy, Anyone 
may go down to Woolwich 
and for a few shillings pro- 
cure a gun which a few years 
ago was the pride of the 
Master of Ordnance, These 
are bid for wholesale by the Obsolete Gun 
Syndicate, and sold to small Powers and 
principalities which are not particular about 
such trifles as modernity, length, weight, and 
range, A recent visitor to Salvador describes 
the landing of a park of artillery on the 
beach, in the neighbourhood of a structure 
dignified by the title of fort, but which carried 
two muzzle-loading seven- pounders of George 
IV.'s day ! No wonder the commandant was 
glad to receive twenty breech -loading rifled 
Armstrongs which were good enough for the 
British Army twenty years ago. 

An odd company for which City capital is 
solicited is that for supplying non-alcoholic 
beverages to Reservation Indians and others 
in British Columbia, and also to the natives 
of the South Seas, It is pointed out in the 
prospectus that the laws forbidding fire-water 
to the aborigines leave them without a 
proper beverage, and that the delights of 
bottled aerated waters, as they are known in 
England, are virtually unknown. Fortunes 
used to be made out of the Indians* and 
bushrangers' thirst when alcohol was per- 
mitted. Inspire him with a similar craving 
for the joys of ginger beer, kola, and sarsa- 
parilla, and he will be ready to barter his 
last dollar to satisfy it. Perhaps a five per 
cent, infusion of spirit might help, although 
nothing is said on this head. 

As a striking example of audacity in British 
commercial adventure, it ftould be hard to 
beat the very latest one, the operations of 
the syndicate for the recovery of treasure 
hidden in the tomb of Solomon at Jerusalem. 
Imagine a company ol Englishmen directing 
English navvies in excavations under the 
sacred Mosque of Omar itself ! The chief 



object of the expedition, in which several 
thousand pounds were invested, was the 
discovery of buried treasure ; but incidentally 
the syndicate cleaned out the Virgin's Well 
and the tunnel of the Pool of SSloam, 
and carried on operations for the purpose 
of finding the tomb of David and Solomon 
and any Hebrew writing that might 

But, in spite of the enormous interest 
created, this particular company, it is much 
to be feared, will not return any dividends to 
the investojdriginal from 


VERY preparation had been 
to welcome the 
anxiously - awaited guest. It 
was a farewell visit. Mr. 
Jackson would dine with his 
friends the Ponsonbys, spend 
the evening with them, and 
leave in time to catch the ten o'clock train 
for London. The next day — so he had in- 
formed them — he would change the gold and 
notes he would receive from the agent who 
had disposed of his property in Brook ham 
for a draft on a New York bank, proceed by 
the boat train for Liverpool, and sail for 
America in the Lusiiania. He was already 
a few minutes late, His interview with the 
agent was evidently detaining him longer 
than he had expected. 

The Ponsonbys, who were understood to 
be comfortably off, but to prefer a quiet life 
and to object very strongly to, anything that 
savoured of ostentation, lived in a compara- 
tively small, ready-furnished, semi-detached 
villa residence on the outskirts of Brookham. 
They kept two servants only — a cook and 
housemaid — and smilingly deprecated the 
idea of moving to a larger house and in- 
creasing their establishment. 

" No, no/' said Mr. Ponsonby, in his 
pleasant, cultured voice. u We should add 
to our responsibilities by doing so ; we should 
not add to our happiness. The larger the 
house the more numerous the servants, the 
greater the worry, the less time there can 
possibly be for the things that really matter 
—the things that make life worth living, 
social intercourse, reading, travelling, recrea- 
tion. What do you say, my dear ? " 

Mrs. Ponsonby, a charming woman, both 
as wife and hostess, with a rather florid 
complexion and bright black eyes, entirely 
agreed with him, as she usually did. His 
daughter, Belie, slim, graceful; piquant, but 

Digitized by ^OOgle 


Illustrated ty Alec Ball. 

a little pale, and given to alternate fits of 
gaiety and gloom, also agreed with him. 
His son, Dick, a tall, powerfully-built, black- 
haired young man, with a thick neck and a 
large, square- jawed, full-lipped face, who was 
understood to be studying for the Church, 
took even more pronounced views than his 
father, and was believed to be an enthusiastic 
advocate of the simple life. 

A happy, harmonious, cultured, hospitable 
family, the Ponsonbys had been promptly 
admitted into the most select circles of 
Brookham, and were admired and thought 
well of by everybody* There was an air of 
distinction about all of them as, attired in 
evening-dress, they sat waiting for the arrival 
of their guest, Mr, Ponsonby, grey-haired, 
but active and erect, with clean-shaven, 
aquiline features and keen blue eyes, was a 
striking figure as he stood on the hearthrug, 
one long white hand mechanically playing 
with the cord of his gold-rimmed pince-nez. 
Near him sat Mrs. Ponsonby, handsome and 
stately, her black hair still untouched by 
grey, her ample form still retaining much of 
its youthful charm. Dick always looked his 
best in the well-cut evening clothes that 
seemed to accentuate the fine proportions 
of his athletic figure ; and there was an 
inexpressible fascination about Belle, slender 
and supple, with her refined, delicate, elfish 
face, as she lay back in an easy chair with 
downcast, half-dosed eyes, 




Yet what were the actual facts of the case ? 
These quiet- voiced, well-bred, graceful, clever, 
cultured men and women were simply un- 
scrupulous adventurers, and, being now at 
the very end of their resources, as dangerous 
as starving wolves. There was nothing even 
remotely suggesting the melodramatic in 
their attitudes, gestures, or conversation. On 
the contrary, they had discussed the situa- 
tion, decided on their plan of action, and 
debated the necessary arrangements down 
to the smallest detail, in a matter-of-fact, 
business-like way, and with composure that 
to an observer would have appeared truly 
amazing. And yet, in printed language, 
meant to be read at leisure and in ccld blood, 
it is difficult to make credible the decision at 
which they had arrived. If it were not that 
such things — prosaically reported in the 
Press — constantly take place in all quarters 
of the world, one would despair of doing 30. 

Bluntly stated, their decision was that if 
Paul Jackson brought with him — as he was 
almost certain to do — the purchase-money 
of the property he had recently disposed of, 
whatever might be the consequences of their 
action, they would obtain possession of it. 
They had discussed the matter quietly, ex- 
haustively, trying to look at it calmly and 
dispassionately from all possible points of 

They were far too prudent and clear-headed 
to run any unnecessary risks. They were 
artists in their way. The use of physical 
force always seemed to them crude, barbarous, 
inartistic. They would have been glad to 
dispense with it. A number of ingenious 
schemes had been suggested by which the 
money could be obtained without the use of 
it ; but, subjected to severe analysis, these 
schemes had proved too ingenious, too elabo- 
rate, the kind of things that would probably 
appear very effective on the stage, but would 
be almost certain to end in failure and ex- 
posure in real life. Even those who had 
suggested them were in the end forced to 
admit the truth of this. 

A few simple facts had to be borne in mind. 
One of these was that the greater part of the 
money would consist of notes. There might 
even be a cheque or draft for a considerable 
amount. The numbers of the notes would be 
known, and the first thing Jackson would 
naturally do when he discovered his loss would 
be to communicate with the bank and the 
police, and anyone attempting to cash them 
would be promptly arrested. But if Jackson 
w ere rendered permanently incapable of inter- 
fering, though supposed to be on his way to 

Vol. xlii.-4w 

New York, the whole of the money would be 
worth its face value, even cheques and drafts, 
for to these accomplished artists forgery was 
one of the most elementary branches of their 
profession. The final outcome of the dis- 
cussion, the logical and inevitable outcome, 
as Mr. Ponsonby in summing up clearly 
proved, was that Paul Jackson must dis- 

" It is clearly the only plan of action/' he 
said, " which is at all likely to attain the 
object we have in view. At the same time 
it entails the fewest possible risks. Of course, 
no plan can be so ideally perfect that all risks 
are entirely eliminated." 

" Quite so, quite so," rejoined Dick, who 
had been listening to the elder man's self- 
evident propositions with inward impatience. 
" But we have to bear in mind that discovery 
entails immeasurably more serious conse- 
quences than in the case of any of the other 
schemes we have discussed. If you will 
allow me to say so, you hardly seem to realize 
that fact." 

" Oh, pardon me, my dear boy, I do — fully 
realize it. But to my way of thinking any 
other plan is hopeless, zo that to compare the 
number of risks in one case or the other seems 
to me entirely beside the question." 

Mrs. Ponsonby permitted herself a gesture 
of impatience. 

" I thought we had settled all that," she 
said. " Is it necessary to go over it all 
again ? " 

" Oh, I don't suggest that we should recon- 
sider our decision," replied Dick ; " but we 
may as well realize what we have got to face, 
and make sure that we haven't forgotten any 
detail that may lead to discovery. If we 
should fail " 

He shrugged his shoulders by way of com- 
pleting the sentence. 

" There is no possibility of failure," said 
Ponsonby, stiffly. " Allow me to recapitulate, 
and interrupt me if I am wrong. Jackson is 
almost unknown in this locality, and has been 
abroad so much, and has led so solitary a life, 
that he has practically no intimate friends or 
acquaintances in England except ourselves, 
and no near relatives living that he is aware 
of. The property he has just sold was left to 
him, as you know, by a distant relation who 
had never set eyes on him. Well, he has dis- 
posed of the property and announced his in- 
tention of going to the States to try his hand 
at farming. Who will inquire whether he 
has done so ? Not a soul. Whose business 
will it be to do so ? Why, in a few days his 
very existence will be forgotten. His luggage, 




as he told mc himself, is at the Left Luggage 
office at Euston. The ticket will be in his 
pocket-book. We give the ticket to a porter, 
tell him to get the luggage out, and do what 
we like with it. As to whether he has booked 
his passage or not is of very little consequence, 
The Cunard Company are not likely to move 
heaven and earth to discover his where- 
abouts/ 1 

-i Well, I grant all that." 

11 Very good, Jackson comes here on foot. 
He dines with us, Mary, the housemaid, 
waits at table. She sees for herself that we 
are all on the best possible terms with our dear 
friend who is about to embark on a new career 
in another land and has come to bid us fare- 
well. Very good. It is Mary's night out* 
Having done all that is required of her she is 
permitted, with some little show of reluctance, 
in consequence of the presence of our guest, 
to take her usual night off. She hurries away 
for fear she may be required after all. As to 
the cook — well , that is easily arranged. A 

thing about her, as blind and deaf as if she 
were dead. Mary will not return until the 
last possible moment, so that from about 
eight to half-past ten we shall have two hours 
and a half in which to do all that is necessary. 
As to the arrangement we so fully discussed 
with regard to the disposal of — well, in the 
presence of the ladies I need not enter into 
details, but I think you will admit that they 
reduce the risk of discovery almost to the 

" A man enters the house. He is not seen 
to go out. How would that affect the situa- 
tion ? " 

11 Who sees him enter ? The house next 
door is empty. It is quite darlt. The 
chances are a hundred to one that nobody 
is passing when he arrives. And if a score 
of people saw him come in, how are they to 
know that he has not gone out again ? Your 
question, my dear fellow* is hardly character- - 
istic of your usual acuteness." 

*' Well 3 there is one other point. He may 


bottle of whisky is inadvertently left in the 
vicinity of the kitchen, and in half an hour — 
Mary can test if y that it has frequently hap- 
pened before— the cook is oblivious of every- 

D!g.i!zed by CjOOglC 

have told someone that he is leaving by the 

London train at ten o'clock. He is not seen 

to leave by it — what then ? '* 

" Mv dear boy, think of the crowd there 
Original from 




will be on the platform to-night* If he had 
ar.ked any acquaintances to see him off — a 
most unlikely thing — they could hardly be 
sure whether he was there or not. Still, the 
point is worth taking into consideration* We 
must get to know whether anyone is going to 
the station with him to say good-bye. If so 
the situation would, 
I admit j be seriously 
complicated. Belle ! 

11 Yes." 

41 You must try to 
get to know for us. 
That is your part of 
the business. You 
can do that kind of 
thing more tactfully 
than anv of us," 

" Very well" 

The others glanced 
at Belle unobtru- 
sively, but with in- 
ward anxiety. She 
was the weak link in 
the chain , the un- 
known quantity, the 
rock on which their 
plans might be ship- 
wrecked. She had 
at first opposed the 
scheme vehemently, 
until a cold glitter in 
Ponson by 's eyes , a 
furtive glance she had 
observed passing be- 
tween him and his 
wife t a gathering 

gloom on Dick's grim face } had sent a chill 
through her veins, and warned her to desist. 
None knew better than she what greed and 
cruelty lay beneath the veneer of smiling 
courtesy. Her tone had changed. She had con- 
tented herself with suggesting the possibilities 
of failure, directing attention to the weak 
points in the scheme ; and had been met 
with polite, plausible explanations and argu- 
ments which had eventually silenced her. 
Since then she had hardly uttered a word, 
but her approval of the project had been 
taken for granted* 

At this stage silence fell upon all, a silence 
so profound that the faint ticking of the clock 
t>ecame sharply audible. The quiet room, 
illumined by the gently- flickering fire and 
shaded globes, looked strangely peaceful, and 
yet a close observer would have noticed that 
in repose the faces of all had grown pale and 
haggard, and that the furtive glances, the 
restless hands, the twitching lips, betokened 

a gnawing fear and ever-growing anxiety. 
The trap was laid. Would the victim enter 
it ? If he did not their career as highly- 
respectable members of society was at an 
end. Exposure would become inevitable. 
Hitherto they had contrived to secure a very 
sufficient livelihood by operations which, 

though unquestion- 
ably illegal, had been 
carried on with such 
inimitable skill, such 
daring dexterity 
and ingenuity , that 
however many of the 
commandments they 
may have broken, 
however many of 
man's laws and ordi- 
nances they may 
have violated, they 
had never yet 
commi tted 
the one un- 
p a r d onahle 
sin in the 
eyes of 
society— they 
had never 
been found 
out. But of 
late fortune 

on them* 
Had luck de- 
serted them ? 
belle." Were they 

and careless ? Or was Ponsonby, the com- 
mander-in-chief, who planned their cam- 
paigns and was responsible for their strategy 
and tactics, getting behind the times, 
incapable of seeing that the devices 
which had heen so successful in his younger 
days were growing old-fashioned and in- 
effective ? Dick thought so, and in the 
courteous language which they affected even 
said so. Yet when he tried his own hand 
at some brand-new scheme which he had 
evolved he was not a whit more successful. 
Indeed j the result was within a hair's breadth 
of being absolutely disastrous. 

Whatever might be the cause of this un- 
happy state of affairs, it was clear to all that 
their easy, pleasant, and profitable career 
as well-to-do swindlers had come to an end, 
and that they were threatened by a swift 
and probably final descent into a lower and 
alien sphere of existence where a bare living 
must be obQSJftdn &^f k'^tgar shifts and tricks, 




and petty frauds and swindles. Think of an 
R.A. condemned to become a pavement- 
artist, an operatic star a street singer, a 
fashionable physician a pedlar of patent 
medicines, and you will have some idea of 
Ponsonby's mental attitude. The thought 
that he, the consummate artist, who had 
smilingly extracted thousands from the 
pockets of the British public under the eyes 
of Scotland Yard, without ever coming into 
the clutches of the law, should drop to the 
level of a seedy, out-at-elbow trickster, living 
from hand to mouth by the shillings and 
half-crowns that could alone reward his 
industry, was intolerable. He was ready to 
clutch at any alternative, however desperate. 
He had done so, and the rest, willingly or 
unwillingly, had followed his lead. But it 
was a momentous decision. You could read 
that in the haggard faces and brooding 

The clock ticked on. The minutes glided 
by. Would he never come ? The silence, 
the unexpected interval between thought and 
action began to tell upon their nerves. They 
glanced stealthily at each other. Fear, dis- 
trust, suspicion — all the hateful growths that 
flourish in an atmosphere of crime — began to 
germinate in their minds. 

Dick's iron hand gripped the arm of his 
chair till the knuckles turned white, a cold 
sweat glistened on his forehead, his sombre 
eyes were fixed with sightless intensity on the 
leg of a neighbouring chair. On account of 
his physical strength, flatteringly alluded to, 
he had been unanimously chosen to play the 
chief part in the tragedy if, owing to some un- 
foreseen and improbable contingency, Jack- 
son omitted or declined to indulge in the after- 
dinner whisky and soda which he had never 
refused before. He told himself now that the 
others would have to take a hand in it, 
especially Ponsonby. He was not going to 
be made a cat's-paw of by the cunning old 
scoundrel who would gladly preserve a chance 
of turning King's evidence if things went 
wrong. His lips parted and he was about to 
speak, when the opening of the garden gate 
and a brisk step on the gravel path announced 
the arrival of the long-expected guest. 

Presently the door was opened and Jackson 
was ushered in, a slightly-built man of medium 
height, with a pleasant voice and gentle brown 
eyes. He was greeted with genuine cordiality, 
for, incredible as it may seem, these people 
really liked him. Ponsonby's bland affa- 
bility, Mrs. Ponsonby's glittering smile, 
Dick's hearty handshake, were things to 
wonder at. Belle alone failed to reach the 

by Google 

high histrionic level of the others. She was 
gay, but her gaiety was palpably forced, her 
eyes sparkled feverishly, but her cheeks were 

Dinner was announced almost immediately, 
and they moved to the dining-room. There 
was nothing ostentatious about the dinner, 
but everything was excellent of its kind, the 
cooking admirable, the wines of a quality that 
left nothing to be desired. And throughout 
the meal there was hardly a dull moment. 
Ponsonby was an inimitable conversationalist; 
not only a wide reader, but a man of the world 
who knew life at first hand, and could impart 
his ideas and experiences in singularly vivid 
and effective phrases. Mrs. Ponsonby was 
hardly his inferior, and even Dick had some 
special knack of giving a droll turn to the con- 
versation, and had a fund of original and 
amusing stories. But in ordinary circum- 
stances — as Jackson knew — Belle was the 
most entertaining, and by far the most bril- 
liant of them all. Even Ponsonby's talent 
appeared to have been acquired by practice 
and experience, but Belle, in her happiest 
moods, had moments of inspiration in which 
she talked with a gay vivacity, with flashes of 
wit and wisdom, that suggested some touch 
of genius. Now, for the most part, she sat 
pale and silent, hardly touching the food 
before her, though occasionally she roused 
herself and, with a few swift phrases, had the 
ear of the table and every smiling face turned 
towards her. 

The dinner ended. With the permission 
of the ladies cigars were lit, and the conversa- 
tion became still more animated. The sound 
■of a swiftly-closed door and of brisk footsteps 
hurrying down the garden path announced 
that Mary had gone. Presently a curious 
muttering became audible at the back of the 
house, accompanied by hilarious snatches of 
song, which finally ended in a dull thud and 
the crash of broken crockery. Belle rose, 
but Mrs. Ponsonby signed to her to sit down, 
and with a smiling excuse left the room. 
Ponsonby gave Jackson a whimsical look and 
shrugged his shoulders. 

" Mary forgot to bring in the whisky, and 
the cook — but it's an old story, isn't it ? " he 
said. " Poor Jane ! I suppose she's like 
other artists blessed or cursed with the 
artistic temperament, soars high and falls 
low, and flies to stimulants to uplift her in 
moments of depression. All the same, this 
is going a little too far. We shall certainly 
have to get rid of her." 

Mrs. Ponsonby came in with a soda-water 
siphon, a whisky decanter, and glasses on a 




tray. Dick leapt to his feet, relieved her of 
it , and placed it on the sideboard. 

" The usual thing, I suppose ? " inquired 

" Yes, poor creature," rejoined his wife, 
" I'm glad she didn't hurt herself. IVe got 
her to lie down, and she's fast asleep already, 
won't wake for hours. This is really the last 
straw, my dear. Excellent cook as she is, 
we can't put up with this kind of thing any 

" Quite so — quite so ; I entirely agree with 
you, Now, my dear Jackson, don't look at 
your watch. You're surely not going to 
leave us yet ? " 

" Perhaps," said Belle, in response to a 
swift glance from Ponsonby, " Mr. Jackson 
has some other appointment. Some of his 

might have adjourned to the drawing-room 
and had a little music, but I'm afraid it's 
too late now. But anyway, let's have a nip 
before we turn out. I think I know your 
usual quantity." 

He stepped to the sideboard, and the fizzing 
of the siphon was distinctly audible in the 
momentary silence that followed. He came 
back with two full glasses, put one* before 
Jackson j and sat down with the other in his 
hand. Dick got up hurriedly to help him- 
self, and, in spite of his self-command and 
brawny frame, the glass into which he poured 
a double dose of whisky shook perceptibly 
as he raised it to his lips. Ponsonby took a 
sip, put the glass on the table beside him, 
and puffed at his cigar* 

Jackson's fingers closed on his glass, but 

1 jackson's fingers closed on his glass, but he did not urink." 

friends may be going early to the station to 
see him off. If that's so — however reluctant 
we may be to part with him — it would be 
inconsiderate to detain him/' 

Jackson smiled and shook his head. 

"No/ 1 he * aid « pleasantly, "Tm afraid 
you overestimate my popularity ; or if the 
grief at my departure is universal it has been 
discreetly dissembled. No one is going to 
see me off." 

" Well, that oversight is soon remedied," 
said Ponsonby, briskly. * s Dick and I will 
be delighted to stroll over to the station with 
you. How the time slips by ! I thought we 

he did not drink. There was a curious ex- 
pression on his face, He was wondering why 
Belle, who was sitting a little in the rear of 
Ponsonby j had gone so white, and had dis- 
tinctly though stealthily shaken her head. 

There was an interval of silence that 
gradually grew portentous — threatening. 
Mrs. Ponsonby 's beady, blatk eyes had 
caught the slight movement of Belle's head, 
and were fixed on her with a malignant glare. 
Ponsonby's jaw stiffened, his lips seemed to 
grow thinner, but he still smiled, was still the 
genial and .jcourteous host intent on enter- 
taining hisj;uei i ti" ia Sllflfllnc at the sideboard, 




Dick glanced over his shoulder. His face 
had gone livid, sweat beaded his forehead, 
while his eyes were fixed with a fascinated 
stare on Jackson's glass. 

Absent-mindedly — as if immersed in 
thought — Jackson raised his tumbler a few 
inches from the table and put it down again. 
Once more Belle had shaken her head, more 
decidedly than before. For the smallest 
fraction of a second Mrs. Ponsonby's eyes met 
her husband's, and then glanced sideways at 
Belle. It was enough to tell him everything, 
but he did not look round at Belle, and still 
smiled. Then he laid down his cigar on the 
ash-tray. It was the preconcerted signal. 
Silently and stealthily Dick began to move 
round the table, so that he could approach 
Jackson from behind. Ponsonby again lifted 
his glass. 

" I think we should drink Jackson's health 
before he goes," he said, genially — " health 
and long life, and prosperity in the new career 
that lies before him. I am sure we all most 
sincerely wish " 

" One moment," interposed Jackson, 
quietly. He had grown a little pale. Some- 
thing in Belle's eyes, as she leaned forward 
with parted lips as if about to call out, had 
made him half turn in his chair, and he was 
aware that Dick was standing close behind 
him. " Please excuse me interrupting you, 
but I should just like to mention something 
that has been rather worrying me all night. 
It was a conversation I had with Patterson, 
the agent who sold my property." 

" Let us hear about it, by all means," said 
Ponsonby, blandly. 

"The fellow puzzled me. I can't under- 
stand what he was driving at. Perhaps you 
can help me. When I called for the money 
I happened to mention that I was coming to 
dine with you, and he immediately said that 
he was very busy, and asked if it would be 
convenient for me to call for the money again 
on my way to the train. He lives above his 
office, which is in King Street, a few yards 
from the station, and of course it would be 
no trouble to call. Still, I was not altogether 
pleased, and it was only when he made a sort 
of personal favour of it that I consented. I 
mentioned that the arrangement would neces- 
sitate me leaving here sooner than I had 
intended, and that I naturally wished to spend 
as much time as possible with you. * Oh, 
that'll be all right/ he said. ' Tell Mr. Pon- 
sonby all about it, and say it's entirely my 
fault, and I'm sure he'll be good enough to 
excuse you.' I thought that rather imper- 
tinent of him, and came away in a bit of a 

Digitized by G< 

huff. I've felt a trifle uneasy about it all the 
evening. He seemed to have something on 
his mind that for some reason or other he 
didn't wish to express too plainly. Yet I've 
no doubt it's all right. I feel confident he 
wouldn't try to trick me out of the money. 
He has the reputation of being well-off and 
perfectly straightforward." 

There are times when the most consummate 
actor in life's drama loses his assurance. 
Ponsonby's face blanched. He made a des- 
perate attempt to light a cigarette, but his 
trembling fingers betrayed him, and he 
instantly abandoned it. Not only had his 
scheme proved a complete fiasco, but he and 
the others knew that this slight, quiet-voiced, 
gentle-eyed man had found them out and 
knew them for what they were. Yet, owing 
to this arrangement with the agent, they 
dare not injure a hair of his head. He sat 
there as safe as if surrounded by police. And 
this Patterson? Who was he? What did 
he know ? With an immense effort Ponsonby 
recovered his self-control. 

41 Really, I hardly know the man," he said, 
" except by name and sight. He has the 
reputation, I believe, of being a good man of 
business. Do you know anything about him 
yourself ? " 

44 Not very much. Well, I know one thing. 
He wishes it to be kept quiet, I understand, 
but I am sure I may tell you. He was at one 
time a detective." 

An inarticulate exclamation escaped from 
Mrs. Ponsonby. She rose and went hurriedly 
out of the room. Dick, who had mechani- 
cally opened the door for her, followed her. 
Even Ponsonby realized that the game was 
played out, but he played it to the last. 

44 I'm afraid my wife is not feeling very 
well," he said. " Will you kindly ecxuse me 
for a moment ? Please don't go. I shall be 
back in a second. I'm sorry to take Belle 
away, but I'm afraid she will be required to 
attend to her mother. Come, Belle." 

Belle looked up at him with the terror that 
comes into the eyes of a dog when it sees the 
uplifted whip in its master's hand. The look 
he gave her as she shrank away from him made 
Jackson's blood boil. 

44 Pardon me," he said, " but if you can 
spare Miss Ponsonby for a few moments I 
should like to have a word or two with her." 

44 I'm sorry, but you must really excuse 
me," replied Ponsonby. 44 She can return 
in a few minutes, but it is imperative that she 
should render whatever assistance her mother 
may require." 

Jackson rose to his feet. 

■_| 1 1 I :i I I I _' I I 




14 I have told you," he said, with flashing in the past, enabled him to control himself ♦ 

eyes and a startling assumption of authority, The game was up, He was in Jackson's 

" that I wish to speak to Miss Ponsonby alone, power } and Jackson knew it. His only chance 

Will you be good enough to leave the room ? " was to trust to Belle's loyalty, 


For a moment Ponsonby hesitated. His 
face had flushed a dull red, his nostrils were 
inflated. He was apparently on the verge of 
a frightful outburst of passion. But the habit 
of self-command j so essential to his success 

After ail, he did not believe she would give 
him away. With a shrug of the shoulders he 
turned and left the room. 

As the door closed behind him Jackson 

^RflffiMftAS* covered "" 



face with her hands, her slight figure trem- 
bling from head to foot. He laid his hand on 
her arm. 

" Belle," he said, gently. 

She shrank away from him. 

" Oh, please go/' she said, in a choking 
voice. " Don't speak to me. You know 
what we are — what — what I am. You must 
hate — despise me." 

He sat down beside her and took one of the 
trembling hands in his. 

" Do you know why I came here to-night — 
why I came here in the past ? " he asked. 
" I never liked Ponsonby — though I never 
even suspected until to-night that he was what 
I now know him to be. I came because I 
cared for you, as I never cared, and never 
shall care, for anyone else. I did not ask you 
to become my wife because I thought you 
would never consent to leave what appeared 
to be a life of ease and luxury to share the 
fortunes of one who is going to make his way 
in a new country, and may have to face a good 
deal of hardship and anxiety. But after what 
has happened. to-night I do ask you." 

" You — you really mean this ? " she asked, 
and the incredulity, the humility with which 
she regarded him seemed to Jackson, in the 
case of this brilliant and beautiful girl, 
inexpressibly pathetic. 

" From my very heart I do," he said, 
earnestly ; " and I beg and implore you to 
come away with me now. I cannot and will 
not leave you here alone, at the mercy of those 
cruel, unscrupulous men and that odious, 
malignant woman. Even if you were not 
all you are to me I could not do it. I can 
guess what was in the glass you warned me 
not to drink out of, and I am absolutely 
certain that you saved my life to-night at 
the risk of your own. Do you think I am 
going to leave you with them after that ? 
You must come away with me at once. We 
can be married by special licence in London 
to-morrow. Leave these people and this life 
I know you loathe, and if it lies in my power 
to make you happy, God knows you shall 
never regret having done so." 

" And you — you can trust me — now that 
you know what I am — the life I have led — 
to be a good wife to you ? " 

" I can trust you implicitly. You care for 
me a little, Belle, don't you ? " 

" I care for you so much that I — I am afraid 
of spoiling your life — afraid that you may be 
sorry you asked me." 

11 1 shall never be that. You do not know 
— I cannot express in words how happy you 
have made me. Do you wish to speak to your 
father before we go ? " 

" Ponsonby ! He is not my father. His 
wife is my aunt, and Dick is her son by a 
previous marriage. They professed to adopt 
me when my parents died and I was left 
alone in the world. When I first came to 
live with them I had not a suspicion of the 
truth. It was not until I discovered that 
they were using me to — to attract and enter- 
tain the people they tricked and swindled 
that I began to suspect. I tried again and 
again to escape, and could not — dare not. 
They threatened me, terrified me — told me 
I had gone too far — was- as guilty in the eyes 
of the law as they were. I was so lonely — 
so — so helpless — oh, you cannot realize what 
I have gone through ! " 

" But it is all over now — done with for 
ever. Try not to think of it. It will only 
distress you." 

" Ah, but yoir don't understand. I want 
you to know everything. I was beginning — 
I know I was — to grow like them. I had lost 
all hope. There was no one to help me. 
What could I do ? In a little while I 
should have been as wicked and un- 
scrupulous as they are. Now you know all. 
Are you sure, quite sure, you will never be 
sorry ? " 

" Quite sure. Come, dear, we must 

He led her to the door and opened it. No 
one was visible, but the murmur of voices 
could be heard in an adjoining room. She 
hurriedly put on a hat and cloak that were 
hanging in the hall. Jackson dispensed with 
all formalities. There was no knowing what 
desperate men with their backs against the 
wall, furious with disappointment, might be 
capable of doing. He opened the outer door 
noiselessly, drew the trembling girl's arm 
through his, and together they went out into 
the night. 

by Google 

Original from 

From Behind tke Speaker's Ckair. 


(new series.) 
Illustrated by E. X. Reed, 

THERE was a passage in the 
A new phase authorized form and order of 
in the the Coronation Service which 
long-speech members of the House of 
controversy. Commons, thronged in West- 
minster Abbey last month, 
wistfully regarded. " At the end of the 
Creed," so the ordinance runs, " one of the 
Bishops shall be ready in the pulpit placed 
against the pillar in the north-east corner of 
the Theatre, and begin the sermon, which is 
to be short." If the letter and the spirit of 
that injunction might dominate proceedings 
of the House of Commons, how much better 
worth living would Parliamentary life be ? 
As usual with a newly-elected House, the 
monstrosity of the length of speeches has 
been much discussed. In course of time, as 
eels get used to being skinned, so members 
become inured to the ordeal of long speeches. 
New members 
acutely feel the in- 
fliction, and for the 
first time in history 
the Session has seen 
organized effort to 
combat it. Since 
I touched on this 
subject in February 
a committee has 
been privily formed , 
charged with the 
mission of shorten- 
ing the length of 
speeches. Its 
almost childish 
innocence was dis- 
played in its earliest 
step, which took 
the direction of en- 
deavouring to form 
a compact by 
which subscribers 
should undertake 
to shorten their 
own speeches. That, 
of course, is not 
the thing at all. 
Individual desire 
unanimouslv flows 

VoL xliL-6. 

in the direction of wishing to see other men's 
speeches reduced in length by a minimum of 

In this matter voluntary 
the red effort would be unavailing. 
lamp. The time saved by the self- 
discipline of a few honourable 
men would be appropriated by non-unionists 
for the extension of their own speeches. 
Reform, to be effectual, must be brought 
about by hard and fast rule administered 
under the authority of the Chair. When the 
Duma was established at St. Petersburg a 
simple devicedealt with the plague of prolixity. 
On a member rising to address the House a red 
lamp was simultaneously ignited on his desk. 
At the end of ten minutes it went out, and the 
orator was compelled forthwith to resume his 
seat. The lives of successive Dumas have 
been so brief and exciting that no record has 





I NO THE LEN WJjI Ot Hia-jaiiES. " 




been published of the success or otherwise of 
this experiment. The matter is well worth in- 
quiring into by the committee that has taken 
the business in hand at Westminster. The 
fact that there are no desks for members in 
the House of Commons is an initial difficulty 
in the way of adopting the scheme. If it 
has proved a success it might be adapted in 
other form. 

It must be gratefully admitted that, com- 
pared with the fashion in vogue thirty years 
ago, the plague of long speeches has appre- 
ciably abated. In the assembly among which 
Disraeli and Gladstone were numbered as 
young men a speech of an hour's duration 
was regarded as a curiosity of reticence. It 
is a familiar fact that Gladstone occupied 
five hours in the exposition of one of his 
earlier Budgets. Two years ago Mr. Lloyd 
George, having grafted upon his financial 
scheme something like half-a-dozen stupendous 
legislative proposals, spoke for a period ap- 
proaching the same length, but completed his 
task only with the assistance of an interval 
for rest and refreshment. 

At the epoch referred to Gladstone's famous 
pomatum-pot was — if the trope be permissible 
— hidden in the bosom of the future. A glass 
of water served hiixi for all refreshment. Old 
habit clinging to him, he was later personally 
responsible for the custom of extended 
speech-making prevalent so recently as the 
'eighties. He also preserved the antique 
fashion of the exordium, the peroration, and 
the classical quotation. Some of his perora- 
tions, lofty in tone, musical in phrase, lengthy 
in form, are at this day prized possessions of 
the language. As I pointed out in earlier 
reference to this always-burning question, 
nobody now indulges in the House of Com- 
mons in a peroration. As for a classical 
quotation, the Labour members simply 
wouldn't stand it. From a period so recent 
as Mr. Gladstone's withdrawal from the scene 
the style of debate has appreciably altered. 
It is less oratorical, and therefore more 

Nevertheless, there remains 
job's the indisputable fact that ow- 

experience. ing to the inordinate length of 
speeches only a small propor- 
tion of members desiring to take part in debate 
manage to catch the Speaker's eye. The evil 
is to be grappled with only by the operation 
of a short, sharp rule limitirtg the duration 
of speech. There are few men, even in the 
present Parliament, who have more useful 
matter to communicate than may be set forth 
within the space of ten minutes. Amongst 

Digitized by G* 

the afflictions that fell upon Job, worse than 
the assault of the Sabeans, crueller than the 
Chaldeans, more woeful than the great wind 
from the wilderness that smote the four 
corners of the house of his eldest son, was the 
length of the remarks of his comforters. 
Happy would Job have been, in spite of his 
boils, had he been able to move the closure 
when Bildad the Shuhite followed Eliphaz 
the Temanite, with Zophar the Naama- 
thite lurking below the Gangway ready to 
chime in. 

It happens that among the 
the ten Standing Orders one presents 
minutes a useful object-lesson upon 
rule. this important question. It is 
known as the Ten Minutes 
Rule, chiefly because it makes no reference 
to that limit of time. What it directs is 
that a Minister or unofficial member in 
charge of a Bill may introduce it imme- 
diately after the Question hour, on condition 
that he explains its provisions in a speech of 
moderate length. One other member may 
follow, under the same restraining condition. 
Whereafter the Bill may be brought in and 
read a first time. Whilst the particular 
measure suffers no disadvantage, the saving 
of time is considerable. Under the old ordei 
of things, especially when obstruction was 
systematized, a whole night might be given 
up to debate on the first reading of a Bill 
whose clauses members discussing it had not 
yet enjoyed the opportunity of reading. 

This testimony to the efficacy of arbitrary 
limitation of speech-making is invaluable. 
Nothing practical will come of the agitation 
of the current Session. It has been familiar 
in the early days of former Parliaments. 
To appeals addressed to him Mr. Asquith 
makes answer that paraphrases the reply 
of former Prime Ministers. If, he says, 
general feeling on the part of the House is 
displayed in favour of taking action in the 
matter he will be willing to give effect to it. 
And there the matter rests till a new Parlia- 
ment meets, and business men fresh to the 
scene marvel at the method under which the 
affairs of the Empire struggle along. 

Another grievance born afresh 

mr. ginnell with the new Parliament is the 

takes the alleged unfairness of allocation 

floor. of the right to speak. It was 

dramatically brought to the 

fore on the opening day of the Session by an 

Irish member, who felt himself specially 

aggrieved. He declared that through a 

whole Parliament, in spite of constant en- 
Gnginal from 






deavour, he had not once succeeded in catch- 
ing the Speaker's eye. (The life of the Parlia- 
ment chanced to have been comprised within 
a single Session. That was a detail the 
complainant was not compelled voluntarily 
lo bring to the front.) There was something 
delightfully humorous in the situation. The 
Speaker- Elect was in his place, waiting to be 
led to the Chair by the mover and seconder 
of the Resolution that selected him as iis 
officer* As they rose to perform their pleasant 
duty, up got Mr. Ginnell to unfold his tale of 
woe. The opportunity comes only once in 
the history of a Parliament, At the moment 
there was no Mace on the Table, no Speaker 
in the Chair, no form of vested authority. 
As someone must needs do something in the 
way of a friendly lead, the Clerk at the Table 
was, as usual, allowed to take charge of the 
proceedings. But so jealous of its privileges 
is the House that the Clerk, being technically 
a stranger, was not permitted to open his 
mouth even to pronounce the name of a 
member. In successively calling upon the 
mover and seconder of the Resolution to 
address the House, he dumbly pointed a 
forefinger at each. 

Mr, Ginnell did not even wait for the 
friendly forefinger to lie turned in his direc- 
tion. He was absolute master of the situa- 
tion. He could not be closured or suspended. 
or ordered to resume his seat after being U rice 
warned of irrelevance. Nor was he subject ed 

Digitized by W 

to any other of the penalties that might have 
been inflicted upon him had he caught the 
Speaker's eye on one of the occasions when he 
lamented failure. If the shade of Mr. Joseph 
Gill is Biggar haunts the Chamber he once 
adorned t it must have been racked with jealousy 
at the opportunity invented and enjoyed by a 

Nothing would surprise the 

the speaker House of Commons more if 

and the some day, being in Committee, 

chairman or the Speaker were to step in 

committees, and take part in current 

debate. Yet abstention from 
such a course is of modern date. Mr. 
Denison, Speaker of the House of Commons 
up to December 10th, i868 ; frequently exer- 
cised what is actually the right of the present 
Speaker of speaking and voting in Committee. 
On June gth t 1870, Mr. Lowe's Budget being 
in Committee of Ways and Means, the 
Speaker was one of a majority of four who 
defeated the Government in the Division 
Lobby, Mr, Denison was the last Speaker 
to exercise this right. But till a recent date 
the Deputy-Speaker (Chairman of Ways and 

VI K . KM MO r 1\ I > E 1 V T Y - S P K A K K R, 

(("b.iimirtn of Way* and Mean*.) 




Means) both spoke and voted upon questions 
coming before the fully-constituted House. 

It is characteristic of the stem impar- 
tiality of the present Speaker, Mi\ Lowther, 
that whilst he held the office now admirably 
filled by Mr. Emtnott he abstained from 
voting when the Speaker was in the Chair, 
This example has been scrupulously followed 
by his successor at the Table, and it is not 
probable that the precedent will ever be 

The difference in the appointment and 
position of the Chairman of Ways and Means 
compared with that of the Speaker is so 
broadly marked as to make this abstention 
a little extreme in the delicacy of feeling that 
suggested it. Whilst the Speaker occupies a 
position akin to that of the Judicial Bench, 
requiring absolute abstention from anything 
approaching political bias or party feeling, 
the post of Chairman of Committees has 
always been recognized as the reward of 
faithful party service. Preserving impartial 
attitude whilst presiding over debate, on 
leaving the Table the Chairman relapses into 
the position of a private member, in untram- 

melled enjoyment of a private m ember* s 
rights and privileges. Before Mr. Lowther's 
time the Party Whip certainly counted upon 
the Chairman^ vote, and invariably got it. 
With a small majority such as that which 
supported Mr* Gladstone in the short Parlia- 
ment of 1 892 , the loss of two votes owing to 
the abstention from the Division Lobby of the 
Speaker and the Chairman of Committees > 
both being before their elevation stout 
Liberals , might at particular crises have been 
a serious mitten At the present time, Mr. 
Lowther being almost the only, if not abso- 
lutely the sole, Tory in the House, and Mr, 
Emmott living up to the faith of a Liberal, 
the two are practically paired. Thus it 
comes to pass that whilst tender consciences 
remain unoff ended, the majorities are not 

In a speech delivered in his 
dr. first Session in the House of 

kenealy's Commons, Dr. Kenealy, refer- 
in ane, ring to what he described as 

calumnious reflections on his 
character, declared in tragic voice, *' I shall 
shake thenfl off as the lion shakes the dewdrops 






from his mane." The prolonged hurst of 
laughter with which the House greeted this 
flight of fancy was echoed throughout the 
country when Parliamentary reports were 
circulated. It remains to this day a classic 
among House of Commons' phrases, 

Reading again the memoirs of the publish- 
ing house of -Murray, I come upon a case 
curiously parallel. S. T. Coleridge, writing 
to John Murray under date 26th March, 

1817, complains 
of attacks upon 
him by the 
Quarterly Reviav. 

~ 4( Thank God/' 

he exclaims, 

c * these things 

pass from me like 

drops of water 

from a duck's 


This somewhat 

lacks the majesty 

of Kenealy's 

simile. Deficiency 

is made up by a 

delightful mixing 

of metapha n 

i4 Except," the 

poet adds, u as 

far as they take 

the bread out of 

my mouth," The 

simile of water 

running over a 

man's back, en 

route taking the 

bread out of his 

mouth , is a fancy 

that should have 

been set forth in 


account of a farm " when the only living 
animals on it are seagulls that fly over it*" 

Up to the present time of writing that is 
the best Irish bull born since the death of Sir 
Boyle Roche withdrew from the national 
stockyard a prolific and successful breeder. 

a city 



As a "bull" 
it does not, however, attain the felicity 
of the creation with which Mr, 0*Shee 
delighted the House of Commons on a 
dreary night last April in Committee on the 
Parliament Bill* The animal appropriately 
emerged from a farmyard in County Meath, 
whence the tenant had been evicted for non- 
payment of rent. Public-spirited neighbours 
not only saw to it that no new temmt should 
be forthcoming, but constant depredation 
was committed upon the farmyard buildings. 
The result was that they were placed under 
police protection. Mr. O'Shee, addressing 
the Thief Secretary, insisted upon knowing 
at whose cost the police were thus engaged, 
and whv such cost should be incurred on 


In accordance with ancient 
custom, going back to a period 
beyond the memory of man, 
when the House 
of Commons 
newly elected 
meets for its first 
Session the mem- 
bers for the City 
of London seat 
themselves on the 
Treasury Bench, 
Since Mr. Arthur 
Balfour, driven 
from Lancashire, 
took refuge in the 
City the arrange- 
ment has lacked 
completeness. It 
would, per haps , 
be too funny to 
have the Leader 
of the Opposition 
seated for howso- 
ever brief time in 
the Ministerial 
citadel He has 
accordingly had 
himself excused. 
His colleague. Sir 
Frederick Ban- 
bury, not ham- 
pered by ex- 
Ministerial dig- 
nity, was found 
on the Treasury 
Bench at the opening of this Session 3 as he 
has been seen there on many former occa- 
sions, whether the fort were held by Liberals 
or by statesmen of his ow^n political faith. 

Sir Frederick, however, stops short of 
reviving the fashion of his long-time pre- 
decessors in one respect. When the}' came 
down to Westminster they did honour to the 
City by presenting themselves in mazarine 
robes and gold chains. In the modern Par- 
liament there is one occasional r;evi%'al of 
this courtly custom. It happens when the 
Lord Mayor of Dublin is also a member of 
Parliament, and in his former capacity pre- 
sents a petition at the Bar of the House, 
Thereafter, taking his usual seat, he still wears 




his robes and chain of office, an object of envy 
to ordinary members. 

Up to a date so recent as the passing of the 
Reform Hill ^ members of the House of Com- 
mons privileged to wear scarves and orders 
habitually displayed them, I have an en- 
graving of an old picture showing the House 
of Commons in Session in the year 1821, 
Nearly all the members wear powdered hair 
arranged in queues, a style preserved to this 
day only by footmen. Many display the ribbon 
and star of the particular order to which they 
belonged. Manners-Sutton, Speaker at the 
time of the passing of the Reform Bill^ wore 
the red ribbon of the Hath flung across his 
gown. The only decoration of the kind worn 
in Parliament to-day is displayed by the 
Bishop of Winchester, Prelate of the order of 
the Garter, on whose surplice shines the 
insignia of his rank. 

The custom pertaining to mern- 
with hers 

for the 

City is 

well known. Another 
observed on the open- 
ing of every Session 
is less familiar and is 
even more hoary in 
age. An unobtrusive 
gate opens from 
Dean's Yard into 
Great College Street, 
leading on to the 
entrance to Westmin- 
ster Palace. As far 
back as Plantagcnet 
times it was the 
custom of the Abbot 
of Westminster to 
walk from the Abbey 
to the Palace to take 
his seat with lay- 
lords at the opening 
of Parliament. This 
gate led to the nearest 



and most private approach to the Palace* 
and was used for the procession of priests and 
acolytes who escorted the Abbot on his way. 
To this day, on the opening of a new Session, 
the gate is unlocked, though there comes no 
Abbot in cope and mitre bound for the 
House of Lords. For the rest of the year 
it remains locked* 

An invariable formula in the 
A PARLIA- Parliamentary Reports tells 
mentary how through theSession at such 
relic, an hour ** The Speaker took 
the Chair." There was a time 
in the history of Parliament when this phrase 
might be construed literally, When Parlia- 
ment was dissolved the Speaker, claiming 
what was admitted to be his perquisite, took 
the Chair home with him. Lenthall, the 
Speaker who lives in history for his famous 
speech in response to King Charles's personal 
demand for the custody of the Five Members, 

availed himself of his 
privilege. In RacJley 
Church, Berkshire, 
there is to be seen to 
this day a canopy 
black with age. It 
was in its time a por- 
tion of the Speaker's 
Chair in the House of 
Commons in the reign 
of Charles L When 
Parliament was dis- 
solved Lent hall had 
the Chair in which 
he sat through several 
Parliaments " con- 
veyed ,J (so the wise 
call it) to his country 
house in Berkshire. He 
presented the canopy 
to the parish church, 
where it forms one of 
the oldest links still 
extant with the early 
days of the Mother 
of Parliaments. 

"THK hjsjiop ok wjnciikstrr, o\ WHOSE 


by Google 

Original from 

Mr. Macfaiyen, Mortal. 


Illustrated by Dudley Hardy, R.L 

BVIOUSLY young Phipps 
should never have been ad- 
mitted a member of the Mau- 
soleum Club. He was the 
only member one could readily 
call to mind who had any hair 
whatever on the crown of his 
head, and the only human being who had ever 
committed the outrage of whistling (yes > 
whistling) on the staircase of that solemn 
institution. As a matter of fact, he passed 
the committee simply as the son of his father, 
the great Sir Mumplebury Phipps, the palae- 
ographer. It would be a great blow to his 
father if young Phipps were expelled from 
the Mausoleum ; but something of the sort 
is sure to happen sooner or later. He will 
be fortunate if he is only asked to resign. 

It might have been expected that the 
somnolent dignity of the place iind the 
members would have had its effect on young 
Phipps ; and so it did, but 
it was quite the wrong 
effect- It stung him into 
excesses of misbehaviour, 
such as he would probably 
never have contemplated in 
any less portentous en- 
vironment* He was con- 
stantly exposed to the 
temptation to do something 
atrocious and sec what 
would happen. Mind — I am 
not offering excuses for 
young Phipps ; I am merely 
His worst outrage was 

never distinctly traced to 

him by the committee, 

but- ! It was something 

so very shocking that I 

would rather not mention 

it; but that happens to be 

the only way of explaining 

what followed, I will just 

say, then, hurriedly and 

without pamful detail, that early one evening 
he secreted gin in a flat bottle under his coat 
and entered the smoking-room at a moment 
when it was empty. Two freshly-filled water- 
carafes stood there, and these he took and 
partly emptied into a ventilating pipe ; he 
then divided the contents of the gin-bottle 
between the two carafes and replaced them 
carefully where he had found them. That 
was all. 

Now, as it happened, this was the first 
evening for many years that Mr* Priscian 
Macfadyen had spent at the club; and the 






reason was that this was the first night for 
many years that Mrs. Mac fad yen had been 
away from home without her husband, She 
had been sent for, in fact, by a sister who had 
been taken ill ; and as she had not positively 
extracted a pledge from Mr. Macfadycn that 
he would stay at home, that dutiful husband 
thought there could be no positive objection 
to the exceedingly mild diversion of an even- 
ing at the Mausoleum, and no absolute need 
to report the fact to Mrs, Macfadyen on her 
return. It was a sad thing — a tragedy , as 
you will see— that on the occasion of Mr. 
Macfadyen's first evening at the club for years 
there should be 
gin in the water- " v 


Three tumblers were brought , with a little 
brandy at the bottom of each, and one of the 
treacherous water-bottles was placed at hand. 
Mr. Tee% T es, after a sniff and a slight sip of the 
undiluted brandy, added a generous helping 
from the water-bottle, and pronounced the 
result quite extraordinary. 

*' This is really a brandy of very remarkable 
quality/' he said, " with a character quite its 
own. Somehow the water seems to bring 
out the flavour/ 1 

Bowker agreed, and resolved to speak to 
the secretary about getting some of that same 
brandy for his private store. And Mr, 
Priscian Macfadyen, with glowing interior 
and blinking eyes, approved of the cigar and 
the brandy, and Bowker, and Jeeves, and the 


In the smoking-room Mr. Macfadyen met 
his old friend Bowker, whom he had not seen 
for a very long time ; because Bowker was a 
bachelor and spent every evening at the club. 
Bowker had very good cigars of his own, 
which he preferred to those kept on the 
premises. Mr, Bradley Jeeves, another old 
acquaintance f also liked Bowker's cigars. So 
these three elderly contemporaries sat together 
with three of Bowker's cigars between them ; 
and , partly because they were of a generation 
before the coming into fashion of whisky, 
and partly because of certain restrictions of 
Mr. Bowker' s doctor, they resolved on three 
glasses of weak brandy and water ; especially 
as Jeeves had been told of an excellent new 
brandy just arrived in the club cellars. 




circumstances generally — but particularly the 

4t There's a certain curious silkiness- yes, 
I think silkiness is the only word — about this 
brandy," said Mr. Bowker, critically, " that 
is positively extraordinary*" He took a good 
mouthful, and swallowed it with lingering 
approval. " Excellent ! " he went on/' quite 
excellent ! It's very far from being my usual 
habit, but it's very tempting, and I really 
think I must have another." 

So they had another, all three, and from a 
far corner the diabolical Phipps, entrenched 
behind a newspaper, watched the fell result 
of his revolting machinations. 

Let us, with a truly and genuinely respect- 
able shudder, draw a veil over the rest of that 

Original from 




evening's transactions ; a veil thick enough to 
conceal the fact whether or not those three 
unoffending and most proper elderly gentle- 
men, under the stimulus of the first two, had 
another glass apiece, or even more. A veil 
that will permit no glimpse of the confused 
oscillations of three exceedingly pink scalps as 
viewed from the top of the Mausoleum stair- 
case at their departure very late in the even- 
ing indeed. A veil that will reveal nothing 
of the panic amazement of the decorous hall- 
porter, nothing of the rumours of musical 
efforts in the fresh air of the street, nothing of 
suggested explanations before the committee. 


Mr. Bowker awoke very late next morning 
with a double-elephant headache and a very 
doubtful remembrance as to how he had 
acquired it. His man was gathering up his 
clothes, striding after them about the room 
in a subtly irritating manner which Mr. 
Bowker strongly resented. The fellow was 
under notice, and since he had received it his 
manner had grown less respectful each day. 

Mr. Bowker noticed that there was a good 
deal of mud on the clothes, and he began to 
wonder as to the manner of his home-coming. 

" Wade ! " he said. 

" Sin " 

" I — I was rather late home last night." 

" This mornin', sir," corrected Wade. 

11 But you didn't wait up after twelve, I 
suppose ? " 

" No, sir." Mr. Bowker was vastly relieved 
till the man added, " But I got up to let you 
in, sir." 

" Not necessary," snapped Mr. Bowker — 
" not at all necessary." 

" Beggin' pardon, sir, I found it very 

A very insolent scoundrel, reflected Mr. 
Bowker, between the throbs of headache. 

But he would very much like to remember 

There was some talk of a new brandy at the 
club — he could recollect that perfectly ; and 
Macfadyen was there. But beyond that 
everything was the blankest of possible 
blanks. The new brandy must have been 
uncommonly bad. What had happened ? 
He must try Wade again. " I don't feel very 
well this morning, Wade," he remarked. 

11 Indeed, sir ? You surprise me, sir." 

" Why surprise you ? " asked his master, 

" You was very appy last night, sir — mean- 
in' this mornin', of course. Very 'appy 
indeed. I never see a gentleman better 


Better nourished ? This was sheer im- 
pudence. And yet Mr. Bowker was a 

bachelor, but no bishop, no archbishop, could 
be more respectable than Mr. Bowker. It 
would be well, perhaps, to bear with the 
fellow till he revealed a little more. 

" I took something that seriously disagreed 
with me last night, Wade," he said. 

" Very likely, sir, I should think. You 
wasn't thinkin' of a watch an' chain, sir, was 
you, or a gold ring ? " 

" Watch and chain ? Gold ring ? What 
do you mean ? ' 

" Only these here, sir. They was in your 
overcoat-pocket with this purse. I 'aven't 
ever seen 'em before." 

And Wade, with a calmly deferential 
impudence, displayed before his master's 
eyes a wholly strange gold watch and chain, 
a signet-ring, and a purse. 

" In my overcoat-pocket ? " gasped Mr. 

" Yessir. They came tumblin' out when I 
brushed it." 

Mr. Bowker fell into a sweat of apprehen- 
sion. What had he done ? Where had he 
been ? He must have robbed somebody ! 

There was triumph in Wade's eye as he 
observed the obvious consternation of his 
master. He stood a picture of malicious 
satisfaction while Mr. Bowker, with trembling 
hands, snatched and opened the purse in 
search for some mark of identification. There 
were several sovereigns in it, and a half- 
sovereign, but no paper, no initial — nothing 
to give a hint of the rightful owner. 

It was a horrible situation. Many years 
ago, when Mr. Bowker was a young man, 
there had been occasions when he had found 
it difficult to recall the events of the previous 
evening. He had been active, high-spirited 
— less decorous than now ; but his wildest 
escapade fell a world short of this. Never 
had he been confronted with anything like 
the ghastly difficulty that faced him now — 
the possession of a watch and chain, a ring, 
and a purse that were obviously the rightful 
property of some other person, and could 
only have been acquired dishonestly — perhaps 
by violence. 

He pulled himself together as well as his 
shattered condition permitted, and requested 
a weak brandy and soda. 

" Yes, sir," replied Wade ; " nothing like 
an 'air o' the dawg that bit you." 

The impudent scoundrel was presuming 
on what he nad seen and conjectured, and 
his master felt himself helpless. 

" By the wav," Jie said, suddenly, on the 




impulse of a bright thought, "are you sure it 
was my overcoat, Wade ? " 

" Oh, yes, sir. The coat's yours all right. 
You won't get into no trouble over the coat." 

The man was growing insufferable, and 
Mr. Bowker was positively afraid to resent it. 
" Ha, hum ! That will do, Wade," he said, 
as loftily as possible. " I'll ring if I want 
you. I — ah — I shall attend to the matter 
of — ah — these things during the day. Mean- 
time, of course, I shall expect you to say 
nothing about it to anybody." 

" No, sir — certainly not, sir," replied Wade, 
with an oily grimace that almost included a 
wink. He paused in the doorway and 
repeated, " Certainly not, sir. I sha'n't say 
a word — so long as I remain in your service, 

Mr. Bowker groaned in spirit. The fellow 
was plainly threatening to give him away 
unless kept in his employ. But something 
must be done, and done quickly, to ascertain 
what had happened last night. The police 
might even be on the look-out for him at 
that very moment ! 

He dressed and made his best attempt at 
breakfast. Then, with that shameful plunder 
again in his coat-pocket, he set out to cal! on 
Mr. Macfadyen, desperately striving as he 
went to recall some fragment oi last night's 

But it was useless. He could remember 
nothing after the second trial of the curiously 
seductive new brandy. He might have gone 
anywhere and done anything. 

Mr. Macfadyen lived just where you would 
have expected to find a bald-headed fun- 
gologist of Erastian tendencies — in Blooms- 
bury, in the most respectably ordinary house 
of the most respectably ordinary square to 
be found in that parish. 

Yes, Mr. Macfadyen was at home, but 
engaged just at present, explained the man 
who opened the door, with some mystery. 
Would Mr. Bowker please step in ? 

Mr. Bowker did so, and as the door closed 
behind him he was aware of skirts on the 
landing above the lower stair-flight. This 
was awkward. Mrs. Macfadyen must have 
returned sooner than was expected. 

" Mr. Bowker, is it you ? " said the lady. 
" You've heard of our trouble, then — very 
kind of you to come. Won't you come 

U P ? " 

What " trouble " was this ? Mr. Bowker 

had never for a moment anticipated an 

encounter with Mrs. Macfadyen, whom he 

held somewhat in awe, as did other of her 

husband's friends. It would certainly be out 

of the question to enter into any discussion 
of last night's proceedings in presence of 
Mrs. Macfadyen. As it was, he was supposed 
to be aware of some trouble which had fallen 
on the house of Macfadyen, and to be so kind 
as to call in consequence. Here was some- 
thing to excuse his presence, if only he knew 
what it was. 

He soon learned. Mrs. Macfadyen led the 
way to a dressing-room where Mr. Macfadyen, 
looking vastly perturbed and extraordinarily 
uncomfortable, stood in consultation with a 

" Oh, good morning, Bowker," said Mr. 
Macfadyen, rather hurriedly. " We — we 
haven't seen much of you lately. Wondered 
what had become of you. We've had a little 
burglary here — nothing to speak ol — thing 
I shouldn't have taken much notice of my- 

" No, he wouldn't," observed Mrs. Mac- 
fadyen, severely. " He didn't even want to 
call in the police. But, of course, I insisted 
on that, and Sergeant Pike here thinks he has 
a clue already." 

" How did it occur ? " 

" It seems" answered Mr. Macfadyen, 
hastening to explain, " that the thief must 
have climbed on to the study roof just below 
here, and reached in at the open window. 
He could easily take anything from the 
dressing-table like that." 

" Did he take much ? " 

" Priscian's watch and chain," said Mrs. 
Macfadyen, with a precise emphasis, " his 
signet-ring, and his purse with money in it. 
And he calls it nothing to speak of ! " 

Something sprang up into Mr. Bowker's 
throat, turned over, and fell into his chest 
again. " A — a gold watch ? " he managed 
to say. 

" His gold watch that cost him fifty guineas 
at Dent's, and a thick curb chain. And he 
wasn't even going to call the police ! " 

This was quite terrible. This climb over 
from the mews and up to the window was just 
what Mr. Bowker might have done — in pure 
sport — in his college days ; but now ! What 
in the world could have possessed him to 
behave so ? And Sergeant Pike thought he 
had a clue ! 

41 The sergeant says it is obviously some- 
body who knows the place." observed Mrs. 
Macfadyen. " That's so much to the good." 

Mr. Bowker's mouth was drier and stickier 
than ever. This escapade had probably 
seemed rather amusing last night ; but now ! 
The views of sixty-five are not as the views of 

twenty-five. This w ^ n o " lark." 
IJmVtrOl It Or mlLrllurtN 



" What / want ta know is, how much a 
burglar would have to take before Prisuan 
would call it serious/' was Mrs, Mac fad yen's 
next contribution to the case. 

" 0h T of course, my dear, I don't say it 
isn't serious," replied Mr. Macfadyen, with 
anxious conciliation, " But then it might be 
much more serious for the burglar if he were 
caught. We mustn't lose sight of the humani- 

" There, you see Mr, Bowker agrees with 
me," said Mr. Macfadyen. " And as to its 
being intended as a joke, what could be more 
likely ? The humour of the lower classes is 
genuine, though crude." 

" Stuff and nonsense ! " replied Mrs. Mac- 

" The chief difficulty/' said Sergeant Pike, 
"is the umbrella," 



He may have a 
Don't you think 

tarian aspect of the case, 
starving wife and family. 
so, Bowker ? " 

11 Very probable indeed, I should think/' 
assented Mr. Bowker, readily. "In fact, the 
— the whole case seems to suggest it. And 
he — he may have only intended it as a 

" The umbrella ? " interjected Mr. Bowker, 
a little puzzled, 

f( Yes 5 1J said the detecti% ? e. "There's an 
umbrella missing, as well. You didn't put 
that on the dressing-table, too, did you ? " 

" Certainly not/ 1 replied Mr. Macfadyen, 
with some stiffness, i r" J assure you I am 
quite tap^.^,^' 



" Just so, sir. Nobody'd ever believe such 
a thing of you, I'm sure. But there's the 
difficulty. If the thief stood on the study roof 
and reached in at this window and got the 
things off the table, how did he get the • 
umbrella out of the hall downstairs ? 
Especially with you sleeping here in the bed- 
room with the door locked. " 

" That clue," said Mr. Macfadyen, de- 
cidedly, " obviously points to a thief of great 
cunning and resource ; and perhaps with so 
much more obvious and easily-detected crime 
going on about us, and crying out for atten- 
tion, it might be as well to waste no more 
time on this difficult case — at any rate for the 
present. Urn ? Eh ? " 

" Why, no, sir. There are other things to 
consider. There are finger-marks, for instance, 
on the polished top of this table, and, 
especially distinct, on the silver backs of the 
brushes. You see, they're quite clear when 
you hold 'em up to the light. Now, there's 
nothing more certain than the finger-print 
clue. If you'll just look at this clear system 
of lines, gentlemen, and compare them with 
any other — your own, for instance — you'll 
perceive that the difference is quite extra- 

By some common impulse, both Mr. Bowker 
and Mr. Macfadyen plunged their hands deep 
in their pockets at this point, and the sergeant's 
exposition was interrupted by the appearance 
of the man tyho had admitted Mr. Bowker. 

" There's a four-wheeler at the door, sir," 
said the man, " an' the cabman says he wants 
to see you. He's got your umbrella, and he 
says he won't give it to anybody but you ; 
and he's as deaf as a post, and I can't make 
him understand anything ! " 

" I'll go ! " said Mr. Macfadyen, making 
a dash at the door. 

" So will I ! " said Mrs. Macfadyen, with 
a sudden steely gleam of eye, dashing too. 

But the cabman was there already, and 
pushed past the servant. He was such an 
elderly man as only grows on the box of a 
four-wheeler, of a species now all but extinct. 
His face was bristly and crimson, with touches 
of purple, his voice struggled through the 
sediment of long-forgotten fogs, and he did 
not spare it. 

" Pardon, lady; pardon, gents. I s'pose I 
was meant to come up, but 'e don't speak 
loud an' I'm 'ard of 'earin'." He stepped 
farther into the room, extending a silver- 
handled umbrella toward Mr. Macfadyen. 

" I'm a honest man/' he announced. " A 
honest man." 

" Certainly — thank you — I'm much 

obliged," said Mr. Macfadyen. But the 
cabman heard nothing and proceeded. 

" When I brought you 'ome last night from 
Pall Mall this 'ere genelman paid the fare — 
in adwance." He pointed with the umbrella 
at Mr. Bowker. 

"From Pall Mall!" remarked Mrs. 
Macfadyen, with the steel in her voice now as 
well as in her eye. " This is certainly news 
to me ! " 

" From the club, my dear," explained Mr. 
Macfadyen. " I — I forgbt to mention it, in 
the excitement of the — ah — burglary ! " 

" The fare was paid in adwance," the cab- 
man repeated, " but you didn't remember it, 
sir, you was that mortal ! " 

" That what ? " And even the deaf cab- 
man understood the scandalized prance of 
Mrs. Macfadyen. 

" Mortal," he repeated, placidly, a little 
louder. " 'E was that mortal 'e couldn't 
understand the fare was paid, and as 'e 'adn't 
got no money 'e made me take his umbrella. 
Now, I'm a honest man. When I was 
a-'elpin' 'im with 'is. latchkey I might 'a' 
pinched anythink out o' the 'all, but not me ! 
There ain't many could say that, could they ? 
But I'm a honest man. Anybody might V 
felt it a dooty to keep the umbrella arter 
what 'ad 'appened, but not me ! I'm a 
honest man. I don't say but what I've bin 
an' lost a hour or so this mornin' a-comin' 
'ere, an' any gent as was a gent would make 
it a quid at least, but that's neither 'ere nor 
there. I'm a honest man, an' I leave it to 
the genelman 'isself ! " 

There was a horrid pause, an(l nobody 
dared look in Mrs. Macfadyen's direction. 
Mr. Bowker, from behind her, sKook his fist 
and made furious dumb show at the con- 
scientious cabman. 

" Why, sir," pursued that paragon, sur- 
prised at this demonstration, " sure/y you 
remember it ? You was pretty mortal your- 
self, but not as mortal as this genelman. 
You knew summat, you did. Why, when you 
took care of 'is watch an' chain an' ring an' 
puss afore you shoved 'im in the cab, I says 
to meself, ' } E knows summat, 'e do,' I says. 
'E's bin there afore, many a time,' says I." 
The man of probity beamed affably on the 
company as one desirous of promoting 
cheerfulness. " An' what I say is," he added, 
" what's the odds if the gent was mortal ? 
*E ain't the only one, is 'e ? " 

" We are all mortal," faltered Mr, Mac- 

" You was last night, any'ow ! " rapped 
out the cabrnaii, promptly, with a deaf man's 



perverse turn of hearing. He grinned and 
shook his head roguishly, with a wink at 
Mrs, Macfadyen* " But there, I do like a 
gent as is open^anded when Vs mortal. 
Why, you'd V give away everythink if the 
other gent 'adn't collared 'em ! You offered 
yer watch an' chain to the club porter ! " 

Mr. Bowker interposed, rather uncertain 
of tone, but careful not to speak too loud. 

"I'm afraid this fellow is far from sober/ 1 
he said. " It's very sad. It is true, how- 
ever, that I took care of Mr. Maefadyen's 
valuables last night for safety. Something 
had disagreed with him, and he was not at 
all well" 

" I'll never touch Welsh rabbit again ! " 
murmured Mr, Macfadyen. "Never ! n 

" Here are the things/ 7 Mr. Bowker went 
on. " In the misunderstanding prevailing 
I — I felt a certain difficulty in doing so before, 
as you will understand, Mrs. Macfadyen/' 

Mrs. Macfadyen gathered up the articles 
with an air that broke the nerve of every 
male creature present except the cabman. 

" Yes/' she said, " I quite understand, 
Mr. Bowker, quite. Pray explain no more ! " 

But the cabman viewed this tardy re- 

storation of the valuables with amazement* 
" What ! " he exclaimed. " That's a 
heye-opener, that is ! Seems I've give the 
game away ! Well, I'm blowed ! Who'd ha 1 
thought of a bloke like Hm takin' advantage 
of ? is pal like that ! Why, ? e was a-stickin 
to cm if I 'adn't bin a honest man an' come 
along an* told the truth ! Never said a word, 
*e didn't, not till Id told the fzent who'd 'ad 
'is watch ! That's a corker, that is ! Well, 
well ! It seems IVe got back all them things 
for you, as well as the umbrella t As a honest 
man I ought to T ave two quid at least ! " 

. Mr. Bowker strode back to his rooms with 
darkling brow. " Wade ! " he thundered, 
" come here ! " 

" Yes , sir ! " responded Wade, appearing 
from the next room with his semi-impudent 
grin in no whit abated. 

11 Wade, I believe you're under notice to 
leave my service ? " 

" I was, sir," smirked Wade, " but under 
the circumstances " 

" In the circumstances. Wade, you're an 
insolent scoundrel. There's your month's 
money. Go this instant ! " 

"TBKU'S YOUR MONTH'S MONEY. f|f| R^'^iflYl!^ Ml C H IG A N 

Lawn -Tennis Strokes Tkat Pay. 

A Symposium of the Opinions oi Famous Play ere on Their Favourite 
Strokes, and the Beat Strokes to Cultivate* 

UK RE is probably no game in 
the world in which the posses- 
sion of even one good, sound 
stroke proves of so great 
value; to a player from a 
match-winning point of view 
as lawn-tennis. Indeed, a 
number of the most famous players of the 
day frankly confess that " they only have 
one really good stroke*" And yet the know- 
ledge of how to use that stroke to the best 
possible advantage has actually won for them 
championships on more than one occasion, 

In order, therefore, to give readers of The 
Strand Magazine an accurate idea of the 
best strokes to cultivate at lawn- tennis, we 
have collected from various champions and 
lawn - tennis experts their views on their 
strongest strokes, and also on the strokes 
which, in their opinion, are likely to prove of 
the greatest value on the tennis-court* A 
careful study of the strokes in question 
should enable even the most moderate tennis- 
player to improve his (or her) game consider- 
ably in a very short time. 

Mrs, Lambert Chambers, 

Few players have earned a higher reputation 

for all-round excellence on the tennis-court 
than Mrs. Lambert Chambers, better known, 
perhaps, as Miss Douglas, who first won the 
Ladies* Championship some eight years ago, 
since when she has figured as lady champion 
on three other occasions. 

Mrs. Chambers is greatly of the opinion 
that the fore -hand drive is her strongest 
stroke. " I have always congratulated myself 
on my partiality to the fore-hand drive," she 
says, " because it seems to me that a really 
reliable fore-hand is one of the most valuable 
assets of the game. One of the first things 
to cultivate in the practice of this stroke 
is a good length. At first it is well not 
to endeavour to accomplish loo severe a 
shot, for excessive ambition in this respect 
is apt to lead to inaccuracy. On this 
account I believe in the practice of a good- 
length slow ball until absolute accuracy is 

u Once a player attains accuracy, pace 
and direction are merely a matter of hard 
work. In bringing a fore-hand drive into 
play it is best to stand sideways to the net, 
with the left foot in front of the right and 
with the left shoulder facing the net. I 
would point out here that it is a great mistake 







to rush for the ball, for far better results arc 
obtained by waiting as long as possible, as 
to try and meet the ball half-way is frequently 
tantamount to 'asking for trouble,' It is 
advisable, too, to stand well away from the 
ball sideways and lengthways. 

*' Excessive muscular strength is by no 
means necessary in the attainment of a really 
sound fore-hand drive, for timing the stroke 
accurately, and transferring the weight at the 
right moment, and following well through at 
the finish , are the real secrets of good and 
strong strokes- The racquet, I would mention, 
should be swung slowly bark to about the 

*tks. j,amrkrt' chambers's mjih>lk of ovEHirp.An 

Pram a P%ot«, h>j\ SERYJCR+ [J. Utxter. falinUrtte 

level of the shoulder and then brought slowly 
forward, while at the same time the weight 
should be transferred from the right foot to 
the left. I must lay particular stress on this 
matter of tb : transference of weight* as it is 
most important and can only be thoroughly 
mastered by careful practice." 

Mrs. Chambers also attaches great value to 
a sound service. u I quite realize that an 
underhand cut service frequently proves 
exceedingly useful/' she says ; " but, all the 
same, as a rule I am a believer in an overhead 
service. Still, a change of stroke and tactics 
is invariably valuable, and on that account 
mastery over both services is to be recom- 
mended. So far as service is concerned— the 
same remark applies, of course, to other 
strokes as well—' place ? is always better 
than pace, for which reason it is a mistake, 
I think, for ambitious players to attempt too 
fast a service at first" 

Digitized by \j009 lc 

Mr, C. Hcirtms, 

Like Mr. Wilding, the professional tennis- 
player at Queen's Club. Mr. C. Heirons, who 
has given some of the finest tennis-players 
in the country their first lessons, is not 
a believer in the cultivation of any par- 
ticular stroke as an aid to victory on the 

" I quite admit that one good stroke may 
frequently prove of enormous value to a 
tennis-player, " he says; "but, at the same 
time, I think that many players are apt to 
spoil their game by over-zealous practice of 
one stroke, and one stroke only, I think that 
tennis-players cannot do better in their early 
days than to commence by practising ground 
strokes and service first, and afterwards follow 
on with the fore-hand drive, volleying, and 
back-hand strokes. 

" To be a really sound, reliable tennis- 
player thorough efficiency in back-hand 
strokes is absolutely essential, for which 
reason I would advise players to devote 
particular attention to practising their back- 
hand strokes. It always seems to me, 
however, that a common fault many enthu- 
siasts make is to devote too much time to 
strokes which are really what I think can best 
be termed * natural strokes/ The fore-hand 
drive, for example, is a stroke which suggests 
itself at once as being a natural stroke, and, 
this being so^ most players * take to ' it at 
once, because it comes easy to them. On 
the face of things, however, the strokes to 
practise most are those which do not at once 
come easy to a player, and, if only ambitious 
' knights of the racquet ' would remember 
this, their game would improve in a sur- 
prisingly short time." 

Mr. A. F. Wilding. 

Mr. A. F. Wilding, the young Colonial tennis 
player, who won the championship in igio. 
is not a believer in the advisability of either 
endeavouring to make use of any particular 
individual stroke in preference to others, or 
of cultivating any individual shots in practice. 

" It always seems to me that the only real 
chance a tennis-player has of attaining first- 
class ability is to strain every effort to become 
efficient ' all round,' " he says ; " and for that 
reason I think it is a mistake for players to 
fix upon one stroke as likely to prove most 
effective, and then to study that stroke in 
preference to all others. Personally, ever 
since I look up tennis seriously — that is to 
say, ever since Iigln&Mlrtaiplay the game in 



preference to other pastimes — I have always 
tried to rid my play of a suggestion of 
what I think can best be described as 
' one-strokism.' 

" Of course, from the very nature of the 
game, the fore-hand drive suggests itself as 
being of particular value by reason of the 
fact that it must inevitably be used so often. 
Still, I am not at all sure that its value is so 
enormous as many people profess to believe, 
for there are lots of other strokes which go 
equally far to win games on the tennis-court. 
Thus, I always believe myself that a know- 
ledge of how to volley soundly is essential to 
the making of a good tennis-player, while real 
ability at back-hand play should help the 
enthusiast to go far. 

" The weak point in many tennis-players 
is assuredly their inability to volley accurately. 
But why is this so ? Simply because so few 
players will take the trouble to learn the game 
stroke by stroke. Tennis, in many respects, 
is a game which, so far as the learning of it is 
concerned, is much like billiards. 

" How does the really proficient billiard- 
player map out his early education ? By 
practising one stroke for weeks and months 






Prom a Photo, bg " Sport and General" 




From a Photo, by " Sport and General" 

at a time until he has thoroughly mastered it, 
and then taking up the study of some other 
stroke and doing likewise. And that, in my 
opinion, is how tennis-players should serve 
their apprenticeship, for it is only by the care- 
ful study of many individual strokes that any- 
thing like perfection, or something akin to it, 
can be reached at lawn-tennis. I think, 
therefore, that enthusiastic players will im- 
prove their game far quicker by practising in 
friendly games than by continually competing 
in tournaments. I quite realize, of course, 
that tournament play is excessively useful in 
that it helps to make a player versatile. 
Still, I do not think that it will really im- 
prove a player's game very much until a 
fairly high standard of proficiency on the 
tennis-court has been reached, for, in their 
anxiety to win a tournament match, players 
will lapse into bad habits, and will fail to 
correct them simply because they have no 

opportunity c-i dointf so. 




w But by continually indulging in friendly 
practice games tennis-players can ' run over ■ 
a shot time after time until they have tho- 
roughly mastered it, without fear of losing a 
game or of boring the spectators. I should like 
to say, too, that it always seems to me that 
the tennis-player should be in thoroughly sound 
physical condition if he or she hopes to excel 
at the game, By 
this I do not mean 
that it is necessary 
to lay down rigid 
rules for special 
training, but 
simply that fat- 
ness tells on the 
tennis-court as in 
most other games. 
As far as 1 person- 
al I yam concerned, 
I never smoke, 
and 1 am also a 
teetotaller, and 
these two facts, 
coupled with the 
regularity with 
which I play 
tennis j serve to 
keep me tho- 
roughly fit with- 
out making it 
necessary for me 
to go in for any 
special system of 

4b Do I advise 
the use of any par- 
lieu lar racquet ? 
No, I do not think 
so, though , person- 
al]^ 1 alwavs use 
a racquet weighing 

fourteen and a half ounces. However, any 
good racquet of fourteen to fourteen and a 
half ounces in weight should suit a man, and 
a racquet of thirteen and a half ounces a lady 
player After all, the knowledge of how to 
handle a racquet is the only factor of real 
importance, for the secret of success at lawn- 
tennis is to * hit trie ball so that the other 
fellow can't return it.* Naturally, it is easier 
to do this with a good racquet than a bad one 
^but so far, and so far only, does the question 
of the merit of a racquet enter into the 
problem, 5J 

Mr* S* H* Smitk. 
' I am not a believer in the one-stroke policy 

MR. S. 

at tennis/' says Mr. S. H. Smith, who, with 
Mr, F* L* Rtseley, can boast of the distinction 
of having been the first player to succeed 
in defeating the Dohertys ; " but, at the same 
time , if players are anxious to cultivate one 
stroke in preference to others they cannot, 
T think, do better than devote their attention 
to the fore-hand drive, which seems to 

me the most natu- 
ral of all strokes. 
In order to prove 
really effective 
the fore - hand 
drive should have 
great force, al- 
though I would 
point out that, 
without length j 
pace is of very 
little use, 

" The tennis^ 
player of medium 
ability, however, 
almost invariably 
has a very hazy 
idea of length, 
and pitches most 
of his drives in 
the immediate 
vicinity of the 
service line. This, 
of course, is a 
mistake. He 
should endeavour, 
first of all, to get 
into the habit of 
pitching his re- 
turn well down 
to the base-line. 
Having acquired 
accuracy in this 
respect,, he should 
then turn his attention to cultivating p re. 
But I would repeat that pace without length 
seldom proves of much value as a match- 
winning factor on the tennis-court. 

" Still, so far as beginners are concerned, 
I do not consider it advisable for them to 
cultivate any one particular stroke in pre- 
ference to others. To become a champion it 
is necessary to practise every stroke con- 
scientiously and thoroughly, as I feel sure 
that brilliant tennis-play er, Mr. H. L. Doherty, 
and also Mr. F. L. Riseley, must have done, 
In my opinion Doherty was the best single 
player ever seen on the tennis - court ^ while 
a similar remark applies to Riseley in 
doubles. I have alwavs thought that if 

From a Photo, bg ' Sjwrl ami deneraL" 



for a month in 
doubles they would 
have been able to give 
fifteen to the next 
greatest players," 

A. W. Gore. 

One of the first 
favourites of the lawn 
is Mr. A. \\\ Gore , 
who won the Lawn- 
Tennis Champion- 
ship of England fur 
the first time in 
jgoij repeating his 
success in 190S and 
1909. Mr* Gore's 
grit and keenness and 
his unusually hard 
hitting have gained 
for him a high place 
in the affections of 
lawn - tennis enthu- 
siasts. His game, 
too j has improved 
considerably with 
the years, and 
to - day he is 
assuredly a far 
better player, 
and a more in- 
teresting player 
lo watch , than 
when he won 
the champion- 
ship ten years 
ago. He has 
added to, and 
embellished his 
game very much 
flu ring that 
time, though a 
very powerful 
fore-hand drive 
and a swinging 
volley will al- 
ways remain 
the most pro- 
minent features 
of his play. 

" Some people 
tell mc that 
I only possess 
one really 
good stroke 
— the fore- 


fr'rtftn 3 Ph^toffraph. 

Frvm a Phrtu. hit "Sfivrt und 

STKu\i; RF,TU!cN. 


hand drive," says 
Mr. Gore, modestly ; 
" and as there is 
no doubt that the 
old maxim that 
' lookers-on see most 
of the gam*. 1 J applies 
very forcibly lo lawn- 
tennis. I will not 
make bold enough to 
dispute this rather 
unflattering criticism. 
In any case, I think 
that a powerful fore- 
hand drive is a lawn- 
tennis stroke which 
no player can afford 
to overlook j for its 
value as a match- 
winner surely figures 
very hi^h in the list 
of tennis shots which 
really * pay/ and 
* pay well.* 

" I am a believer, 
too, in the cultiva- 
tion of an accurate 
volley shot, for the 
opportunity to bring 
this into play so 
frequent Iyer ops 
up on the lawn- 
tennis court, 
and thus, if a 
player Ls weak 
in this respect, 
many a promis- 
ing chance of 
scoring points 
is completely 
thrown away* 
However, en* 
sexes who arc 
really anxious to 
train themselves 
by their own 
energies into 
some thing ap- 
proaching the 
b first class ' 
s h o u 1 d en- 
deavour at all 
times to play 
with opponents 
possessed of 
greater skill 
than their own, 
,far it is not too 



much to say that one 
can learn more in five 
minutes from a better 
player than oneself than 
one is likely to pick up in 
five weeks by practising 
with opponents of lesser 
— or even equal — skill." 

Mies Dora Boothby. 

No lady - player enjoys 
a greater share of public 
popularity than Miss Dora 
Boothby, who won the 
Ladies* Singles Champion- 
ship two years ago. Tennis 
enthusiasts of both sexes 
entertain the greatest 
admiration for her wonder- 
ful grit and pluck. Indeed, 
it is not too much to say 
that no lady plays an up- 
hill game with more good 
cheer, buoyance, and hope- 
fulness than Miss Booth by, 
who will never say " die." 
And the harder the task 
with which she is faced 
the better is she pleased, 

i( I suppose by the wildest stretch of 
the imagination temperament cannot be 
classed as a shot on 
the tennis - court," 
she says, " and yet 
I cannot help think- 
ing that tempera- 
ment has more to 
do with the winning 
or losing of a game 
of lawn-tennis than 
any individual 
stroke, In fact, I 
think that the pos- 
session of a tempera- 
ment which refuses 
to be ruffled even 
in the face of the 
direst adversity is 
an asset of incalcu- 
lable value on the 
tennis-court. I will, 
therefore — even at 
the risk of being 
ruled * out of order r 
— class temperament 
as ' a stroke 3 which 
pays better than any 
other at lawn-tennis. 


*' I am a believer in 
players paying particular 
attention to an accu- 
rate service — the over- 
head is, I think, the best, 
and of course a really 
sound fore-hand drive is 
a most serviceable shot 
for every player to culti- 
vate. At the same time, 
although I am always told 
that the fore -hand drive 
is the best shot I have in 
my repertoire, I never fail 
to regret that volleying 
does not run a dead heat 
with this stroke. To volley 
accurately is so useful. 

" Again, the half-volley 
is a most efficacious stroke 
in both attack and defence, 
although it is more largely 
used for the latter purpose. 
To half-volley really effec- 
tively the player should 
hit the ball immediately 
after it has bounced, with- 
in a few inches after strik- 
ing the ground, in fact. It 
always seems to me that 
the secret of really accurate half-volleying lies 
in the possession of a perfect eye, and thus 

probably the reason 
why so many players 
fail in their half- 
volleying is due to 
the fact that they 
do not watch the 
bull with sufficient 

* ( Still another very 
useful shot is the 
' short drop shot/ 
which needs the most 
patient practice. 
This shot is particu- 
larly paying from 
almost any position 
in the court, al- 
though I think it can 
be used most effec- 
tively from the back* 
Ad vanced play e rs 
should make a point 
of cultivating the 
* short drop shot/ as 
it may often prove 
mi* owerrl overhead M>i» vffi£| f ro ftf immense value at 

fr m9 n* aL b -'siH>*t**di*mM*?rr ..a.wtiwl moment. 


His Basket of Memories. 


Illustrated by Gil pert Holiday, 

HERE are those who still re- 
member him, Parfait Potin 
of the marvellous voice, and 
it is to them that an explana- 
tion is due, now that time bus 
seared the wonder and wound 
of his meteor-like appearance 
and disappearance ; for in the " basket of 
memories n of each of them dwell fragrant 
recollections like the scent of yesterday's 
flowers come and gone, but riot forgotten. I 
believe I am the only one ever favoured with 
his full ( onfidenee — the confidence of a child- 
like heart that found speech but halting, and 
stood dumb in a crisis* 

He was a child of the caravans, being a 
French gipsy without pride of lineage, and 
one of a numerous family that trudged behind 
a house on wheels from village to village over 
the undulating roads of France. His father 
was a wholesome person who invariably rode, 
though his entire brood might be compelled 
to get behind and boost the wagon up steep 
hills where the one horse found his strength 
inadequate. Therefore his father viewed his 
defection without placidity on that day when, 
at the ripe age of seventeen, Parfait fell in love 
with Jeanne, aged fifteen, of a caravan from 
the North j and promptly married her. 

With Jeanne he 1 began life at the bolt tun. 
thrifty and willing, and in time came to the 
ownership of four dogs and a very tiny cara- 
van, from which it was merely a step to Lhe 
ownership of a horse and a larger outfit, of 
which they were jointly proud. The horse, 
being their first highly- valued possession, 
was regarded as the greatest horse that e% r er 
lived, and was therefore called Buonaparte. 
He was the first addition to the family, but 
eight other members were in time added by 
natural laws, and, Buonaparte included, they 
enjoyed a mutual happiness. 

The red bnu.-r on wheels, with it.- tiny win- 
dow, rack of flower-pots, and caged canary in 
front, two side windows with neat curtains 

drawn back, and clutter of outfit on the roof, 
became a familiar visitor to the villages of 
Touraine, to which Parfait Potin and his 
family regularly wandered and found a 
profitable field. 

It was the custom of Parfait, big and strong, 
to permit Jeanne, through the little window 
in front of the caravan, to drive Buonaparte, 
while he frolicked along the wayside with the 
little Potins ; and one wonders whether or not 
the hardness of his own youth had not taught 
him the hearts of his children and made him 
understand that they would for ever remember 
him as he was in their tender, formative years 
— a big boy that played with them and told 
them stories, and sang to lighten the tedium 
of the day's travel. 

Wherever they might stop in sunny Tou- 
raine it was always the same- Parf ait's anvil 
stood beneath the shade of some tree, or, if it 
rained too hard, was shielded by a lean-to of 
tarpaulin cunningly stretched on ropes and 
an iron frame. He was the only one who did 
not make baskets or trinkets, being dignified 
by the profession of a tinker. 

It was thus I first saw him beneath the 
spreading trees in the plaza of Pont Levoy, 
in Loir-et-Cher. I heard the ring of hammer 
on steel, and, looking from my window, dis- 
covered his arrival The little forge was 
aglow, and appeared ridiculously small beside 
the powerfully-muscled man who fanned it 
to a blaze. Village children clustered round 
him, and, from time to time, some old ac- 
quaintance hurried up to bid him welcome. 

It was when the villagers, after laying their 

jobs at his feet, had departed that 1 first heard 

him sing. He had caught up for repair a 

section of an old gate and, with firm tongs, 

thrown it across his anvil there beneath the 

trees. He struck a blow, and then, as if 

bubbling with joy of his task, threw back his 

splendid head over his corded neck and burst 

faultlessly into the Prologue from i; I Pagii- 

accu" I caught the prophetic words, " A 

basket of memories," ana started from my 
'jjY rfc uin-ii.':.*, hi J 




seat and leaned far across the window-ledge, 
that I might lose no vibranee of that glorious 
voice. Heavens ! how he sang ! I heard 
the song through , timed to the beating of the 
reddened metal , and, unable longer to remain 
aloof, passed out of my temporary home and 
across to his side. 

" Ah, monsieur, you sing ! " I said, be- 
traying, as have others 
more worthy, my en- 

11 I— I sing? Pouf ! 
Yes ! ,T he replied, 
smiling* " I sing bet- 
ter than anyone I 
have ever heard, I 
am a great singer ! " 
And then, leaning 
back and letting out 
a roar at his own 
joke ; " But none 
save those who love 
me know/" 

It began our ac- 
quaintance and ft 
lasts till now, though 
broken by that in- 
terval iii which he 
passed from our sight. 

It took time to 
assure Parfait Potin 
that one was worthy 
of the inner circle of 
friendship. In this I 
was assisted by the 
accident of a copy of 
Le Matin, which he 
was thumbing over 
when I ventured 
across the plaza on 
the following morn- 
mg- His grimy finger 
—the deft but stubby 
finger of the tinker — 
was laboriously fol- 
lowing line after line 
as he spelled through 
a paragraph while 
leaning on his neg- 
lected anvil, 

ff Ah, good morn- 
ing j sir," he said t looking up, relieved, when 
he saw me. Ai You can read better than L 
Tell me ? do I comprehend aright ? " 

He came over to me, and pointed at a 
printed despatch which told of an American 
rivalry for a celebrated baritone. " Is it pos- 
sible that they fight in your country to see 
which shall pay the most for this M. Payotte ? " 

" Yes, it is true/' I answered, justifying 
his reading. 

"Ah, me/' he sighed, " how they would 
fight if they could hear Parfait Potin sing ! " 
There was something so self-complacent in 
his attitude that I found it difficult to sup- 
press my smile. His naive belief that he was 
greater than a grand-opera star of the first 

magnitude was too 
sincere to admit of 
ridicule or sarcasm. 

''Listen!" he said, 
catching the twinkle 
in my eyes. " If I 
were to sing for them 
they would believe. 
They would know 
what song is — what 
it means to us who 
have lived in the 
caravan s, have sung 
to the birds when the 
metal glowed white 
on the anvil ! If I 
should sing ? Bah ! " 
He threw back his 
head and roared at 
hts own conceit, 

u You should hear 
me sing when all is 
well. I lift my voice 

like this, and 5J 

"Parfait! Par- 
fait ! " 

His wife called to 
him sharply from the 
corner of the wagon, 
where ? unobserved , 
she had been weaving 
a basket. 

" Perhaps I he mon- 
sieur would think 
better of you as a 
tinker if you stopped 
bragging and mended 
the bath-tub brought 
this morning from 
the house of M. 
parfait potm 11 He sobered in- 

stantly, and seized 
from a pile the unwieldy thing of zinc 
and held it aloft, peering for the holes* 
He winked gravely at me as he caught 
up a soldering - iron, and 1 left him to 
his work ; but his voice was irrepressible, 
for long after I had gone back to my 
quiet room ;it floated m.p at intervals, with 

its BfflVERSreWfWKWIGWfF roarin S or 



plaintive, as the sentiment of the song 
might dictate. 

For two seasons in different villages of 
that fair Touraine over which I, a wanderer, 
wandered, I met the incomparable Parfait 
at more or less frequent intervals — met him 
so often that in time I too was admitted to 
his sacred clique of intimates, and knew the 
clutch of the brawny, smudged hand, without 
mental reservation. Once it was far south 
in the chateau country, and I was amazed, 
much as an astronomical observer would be 
amazed if he discovered a planet out of 
orbit. Parfait was frankly pleased by my 

" It is the petite Jeanne, my migtwnne" 
he said — she was always little and a flower to 
him, though she weighed fourteen stone. 
" We, the big and little Potins, are giving 
her a holiday — a long one, monsieur. We 
go to Bordeaux ! Yes, monsieur, to Bor- 
deaux ! Forward, my child ! " he shouted 
to Buonaparte, who had been patiently 
watching us, and the house on wheels started 

The little Jeanne, who weighed nearly two 
hundred pounds, waved a fat hand at me in 
pleasant adieux from the interior, and the 
brood of Potins and a pet dog or two dutifully 
accompanied the big tinker, who started 
gaily onward. 

It was in a shady grove outside Bordeaux 
that Fate came to the Potins. Industrious, 
as was his wont, Parfait had mounted his 
little anvil, and, as was his custom, beguiled 
his work with song from sheer joy of his 
voice and task. A short man with long hair 
and rather careless attire encroached on the 
preserves and made himself friendly with the 
tinker by declaring, with a German accent : 
" Ach ! Gott in Himtnel ! But you can 
sing ! " 

Parfait paused long enough to spare a fierce 
frown of inquiry at the interloper, and then, 
deciding that the compliment was sincere, 
smilingly agreed. 

" Sing ? Ah, monsieur, of course I can 
sing ! Better, possibly, than anyone in the 
world. They will tell you so — my friends — 
up there in Touraine. But why not ? I am 
also a great tinker. What have you to 
mend ? " 

The conceit of his speech must have been 
relieved by his roar of spontaneous laughter ; 
but the little man did not smile, only studied 
him curiously. 

" That," he said, " was the magnificent 
Prologue from ' Pagliacci/ " 

" So ? Never knew the name of it before. 

Names do not bother Parfait Potin, mon- 
sieur ! " 

" But where did you learn it ? " 

" From a young man who once passed a 
summer in Blois and used to practise it 
near by my forge. But what of that, mon- 
sieur ? Have I nc right to sing it ? Do 
not the birds up here in the trees teach one 
another the songs they love ? Why should 
I not sing any song if I like it ? Does mon- 
sieur object ? " 

The small man hesitated, wrung his hands 
timidly, and then took the best possible 
action — walked over and patted the brawny 

" You do not understand," he said. " Take 
no offence, for I, as much as anyone living, 
love a song and the singer. Won't you, for 
the love of song, sing it over again ? It or 
such other as pleases you ? " 

And Parfait, with sudden warmth, melted 
and laughed, and sang as he took up his work. 
Sang almost vaingloriously > happy to find a 
new and appreciative auditor, while the little 
man walked to and fro with his hands behind 
his back, always eager to hear more of the 
tinker's voice and the ring of the hammer in 
melodious accompaniment. 

" Listen ! " he interrupted at last. " Does 
it pay to be a tinker ? How much dost thou 
make, brother ? " 

The use of the familiar " thou " and 
" brother " won the heart of Parfait Potin, 
and the question was not regarded as an 

" I am a great tinker/' he replied, proud of 
his deftness of craft. " I make much money. 
Sometimes as high as ten francs a day. But 
there are days when I work hard for — say — 
four francs." 

" Suppose," ventured the little man, quite 
eagerly — " suppose I pay Parfait Potin fifty 
francs a day to sing for me — to sing where 
and when I want him to — to let me tell him 
what to sing. Would he sing for me?" 

Parfait looked at him fearfully, believing 
that his new acquaintance was a trifle mad. 

" Ah, monsieur," he said, softening his big, 
mellow voice to a fatherly, sympathetic solici- 
tude, " it has been such a warm day ! I fear 
you are tired. Perhaps you need rest. The 
sun has been so hot ! Shall I help you to your 
home ? Come, let us go to your house, and 
you must come and see me again. Some time 
when it is not so warm." 

It was the stranger's turn to laugh, which 
he did quite merrily. 

" You believe me crazy, is it not ? Ah, 
you do not understand. I say I am not 




foolish in the head. I will pay. Will you 
come with me ? I to pay the expenses — all, 
everything, and fifty francs a day ? " 

Parfait began to believe him in earnest 
and yet wavered. From the inside of the 
red house came Jeanne, the decisive head of 
the family, 

" Certainly, if monsieur pays in advance, 
and if it is not for too long a time." This 

return to me. It is a wonderful fortune^ 
too good, 1 fear, to be true. Fifty francs a 
day ? Pouf ! Until he shows his money I 
shall believe it impossible," 


latter as a cautious afterthought. And then, 
in rapid French argot, she expostulated with 

" What if he is sunstruek ? God knows 
the Germans are all queer. Did they not, at 
Alsace — but that is no matter ! If he is fool 
enough to pay you such an immense sum of 
money, go you with him and I will run the 
caravan until he tires of your bellow and you 

The strange lover of song, as if com pre- 
hending that the fate of his bargain rested 
on the delivery of money, was fumbling ner- 
vously with a fat pocket-book, and now thrust 
into the hands of Jeanne a bank-note. Mark 
you the perception of the man ! He gave it 
to the woman ! 

11 It is agfflfffna] ffer m declared. $< It k 

agrccd ijNi¥Mf Mcfff&r and sins 



where I wish, and to get fifty francs each day 
and expenses, whether you sing or not." 

The shabby German said no more, but 
hurrisd away, turning only to say, " To-night 
I shall come again." 

Jcmne and Parfait, after watching him out 
of sight, looked at each other, and then, as if 
remembering something, she opened her 
pudgy and not over-clean fist and unfolded 
the crumpled note. Both started with sur- 
prise and gasped, and held it up, and fingered 
it, as if doubting their senses. It was for five 
hundred francs ! 

" It can't be good ! " she declared, being 
the first to recover speech. 

It required an Eve to bite the first apple, 
and a Jeanne to put their first five-hundred- 
franc bank-note to the test. Parfait would 
never have had the temerity. She went 
direct to the nearest bank, trembling, as Eve 
probably trembled when she took her des- 
perate plunge, and nervously thrust the note 
through the wicket and asked for change. 
She was surprised at the immaculate non- 
chalance of the man behind, who merely 
glanced at it and in return gave her shining 
twenty-franc gold pieces — coins which she 
could appreciate. She clutched them in her 
stubby fingers and tied them in the corner of 
her handkerchief and hurried away from the 
house of Mammon. 

II. - 

It was the beginning of great and sometimes 
terrifying adventures for Parfait when Herr 
Gottfried took him from Bordeaux for his 
first ride in the railway train. Paris was not 
all that the tinker had believed it. It was 
stuffy, and there were times when he had a 
childish inclination to run away and sleep 
beneath the trees in the Champs Elysees. 
The new clothes to which he slowly became 
accustomed were stiff when compared with 
the freedom of a half-bared torso, the tinker's 
voluminous corduroy trousers, and the free- 
swinging leather apron. 

The Herr Professor Gottfried was a con- 
stant mystery to the tinker, who found him 
a task-master. Now he sang hour after hour, 
under an instructor who revelled in his voice 
but made him sing, " Ah-eh-i-ooh, ah-ee-i- 
ooh ! " till his ears and throat rebelled at the 
nonsensical reiteration. But there were more 
pleasant periods in which he learned to pour 
his heart into the other songs of the man 
of the loved Prologue, and mastered other 
meisures from the " Cavalier ia Rusticana," 
which he was told he must also sing. 

On that day when they climbed the gang- 

plank of a huge steamship v»d Parfait obedi- 
ently, but with whipped mien, followed the 
sputtering Gottfried, he almost rebelled ; but 
the Herr Gottfried had shown him a cheque 
for such a munificent sum to be sent to 
Jeanne at Blois that he shut his teeth doggedly 
and recalled her last letter, in which she told 
him that, so long as the German paid, there 
must be no faltering. He, the tinker, must 
do as bid and sing like a nightingale in a 
poplar grove at midnight, or crow like chanti- 
cleer at dawn, did the man who paid com- 
mand ! Sing and see that the money was 
sent, for already they were richer than 
Edouard Poirier, who owned the finest cara- 
van that ever trundled over France. 

The bewildering voyage had no sooner 
become a fact than the more bewildering 
maze of stone and steel, pile on pile, caught 
him cowering by the steamer's rail as she 
moved up the channel past the famous statue 
of which he had been told. 

They kept him too busy for remembrance 
to hold him for long periods. They took him 
to a wonderful building, and there he found 
others who spoke his tongue and smiled when 
he assured them that he was the greatest 
singer that had ever lived. They did not 
believe it until it came to the rehearsals, and 
that resonant voice went out with unmeasur- 
able power, and then — grudgingly agreed. 
He enjoyed those rehearsals in the somnolent 
opera-house ; they were so much like playing 
games with the children when the day's work 
was done. The dress amused him, for the 
garb was finer than he had ever hoped to 
wear. He wished that Jeanne, the children, 
and Buonaparte could see him in all that 
bravery which appealed to his exaggerated 
sense of the gorgeous. 

He could. never forget the day he halted in 
front of the opera-house and saw his name in 
big red letters. He could not read the 
English announcement loudly declaring him 
to be the greatest baritone the world had ever 
known, and heralding his first appearance. 
He tried to get a bootblack to explain, but the 
boy said, " G'wan ! Yer nutty ! " or some- 
thing that sounded equally incomprehensible, 
and he was afraid to display his ignorance to 
any of his fellow-members of the cast, who 
appeared so superior that Parfait was for ever 
fighting an inclination to bob' his head and 

The eventful night came, and the impre- 
sario, to fortify him, sat in his dressing-room 
and watched them make him up. The roar 
of humanity was outside, screened off by the 

curtain ; but faintly, deliriously tender 

U Pf I V Cn _M I i \Jr Ml L n P-J.KT J 



came the notes of the marvellous orchestra 
in the overture. He had not appreciated all 
the terrors of his ordeal until they thrust him 
through the opening in the curtain and the 
flood of light from the front was on him. It 
was overwhelming. He stood, mute and 

terrorizing blur^ until at his elbow, behind the 
curtain, came the voice of the little impresario. 

'* Parfait ! Parfait Pot in ! Sing as you 
sang at the forge ! Remember the forge ! 
Be the tinker of Tours ! " 

He shut his eyes and raised his arm* Down 


trembling, while the prompter in the tiny 
hood at his feet thought he had forgotten 
his lines. 

" Courage ! " he whispered, reassuringly ; 
and then, in rapid French, repeated the first 
we II- re mem be red but nearly-forgotten lines of 
the Prologue, 

Parfait stood dumb, everything a wild, 

Vq4- *lii.— o 

it came* in time and with methodic regularity. 
The scene in front was shut out. He was 
there again in the wayside village of France, 
beneath the sheltering friendly trees that 
shielded him from sun and rain. The house 
on wheels was comfortably near, and the 
children wove boskets in the shade. The 

^tiih™TP* i ^iSffJ do his brtt iQ 



mend the broken gate. The orchestra accom- 
paniment was lost, and from the " basket of 
memories " carnt: the " Hang., Hang* Hang ! " 
of the hammer to which he timed himself and 

In splendour ineffable and fiercely yearning 
the great voice boomed out. while the arm, 
masked and 
brawny, beat 
the time. 

"Ring up the 
curtain ! " he 
sang, and stood 
stock-still until 
they dragged 
him back, won- 
dering what all 
that turmoil of 
noise was about. 
For an instant 
he was panic- 
stricken. P e r- 
haps the build- 
ing was on fire ! 
Perhaps some 
accident had 
happened out 
there in front ! 
What else could 
cause that out- 
burst ? In that 
terrific diapason 
of sound he 
could not catch 
the theme, the 
pulsating j vital 
truth that he 
was being given 
an ovation and 
that he had, in 
reality; become 
the greatest 

He could not 
respond to the 
encore, but 
stood bewildered 
and wooden be- 
side Herr Gott- 
fried when, time 


'! ME J- 

and again, the 

little man pulled 

him, unresisting, to the front and smiled and 

bowed and bowed and smiled again, 

Thus was his first appearance. In time he 
became accustomed to the noise and the light* 
But as hLs fame grew his self-appreciation 
decreased, until as he passed along the street 
he shivered when knowing men and women 
UIQulZEu CyV- il H H-^ I L 

recognized ? and whispered, and pointed at 
him. Life was no longer a jest. The 
4i basket of memories ,T was crowding on him 
to the forget fulness of nil else save hi- task, 

The edge of two months had worn off 
before he received a letter from the impresario 
of a rival opera-house which he could not 

read. He took 
it to the pro- 
tecting German 
with the dis- 
hevelled clothe*, 
and begged him 
to translate, 
fearful lest he 
had done some- 
thing wrong. 
The Herr Gott- 
fried read it 
and frowned, 
frowned malign- 
antly, and used 
strong language 1 
in his own 
tongue before 
lapsing into 

"They say 
they understand 
you have no 
ton tract w i t h 
me, and offer 
you twenty 
thousand francs 
a night each 
night you sing.- 
What do you 
think of that ? M 
Parfjjit was 
deep in thought, 
with his head 
bent forward on 
both hands and 
staring at the 

11 Think of it, 
monsieur? 1 
think nothing. 
There is not that 
much money. It 
wouldn't last 
long, just a few 
nights and all the money in the world would 
be mine ; but do you suppose Jeanne would 
advise me to take it until the heat of the sun 
left M. What's-his-name's head ? ?3 

The dominance of Jeanne was still directing 
him, and he had unwittingly made a most 
adroit answer, Herr Guufried stared at him 







in astonishment for a moment, thinking to 
himself that in the seemingly simple brain of 
the tinker of Tours had come a wisdom of 
his -worth. He plunged headlong to rectify 
any chance of error. 

" There is that much money," he declared, 
** and from now on I will pay it to you." 

Parfait couldn't understand, but wanted to 
assure his friend of his gratitude. 

** I wouldn't think of singing for anyone 
but you, man ban ami" thinking of all the 
money he had received from this one man 
and not at all of the new offer, because the 
sum was too large and ridiculous to master. 
Herr Gottfried, still alarmed lest the dis- 
tinguished baritone should escape him, rushed 
away to get his lawyer to draw up an ironclad 
contract, leaving Parfait Potin wrapped in 
the memory of home and a speculation as to 
where the caravan with Jeanne, the children, 
and Buonaparte were at that exact moment. 
After all, Herr Gottfried was liberal and a 
man of his word. Religiously — nay, grudg- 
ingly would perhaps be best — he mailed, 
each time Parfait sang, that tiny fortune to 
Jeanne at the addresses which she gave. And 
little did Parfait reck the sum. To him there 
was a jumble of figures which were of no con- 
sequence, his basic calculation being made on 
the fifty francs a day. When it came his 
turn he sang — sang gloriously ! But all the 
critics commented on the fact that the 
" greatest baritone " had one unfailing 
mannerism. Invariably, in strongest flights 
of song, he beat time with his arm and closed 
hand. They never knew that always, when 
he forgot himself, the eyes were blind to all 
in front and saw but the old scenes, and that 
in imagination Parfait Potin was striking the 
fiery metal or bearing down the handle of the 

In the dingy cafi in the French quarter 
that he frequented at night his auditors, 
kindred spirits all, heard Parfait Potin at his 
best. It was there that he could close his 
eyes and sing the songs of the caravan until 
the rafters resounded with tense sound and 
the echoes of memory and soul reverberated 
in the hearts of those other exiles, who paid 
not, yet understood. 

And so, modest and shrinking in private 
life, he passed the days of that glittering 

It was almost at the close of the season 
when it reached the end. His old and famous 
favourite, the dual bill of " I Pagliacci " and 
"Cavalleria Rusticana," for which prince and 
pauper scrambled for seats, was to be given, 
and the call-boy came running to his superior, 

who hurried to another superior, and thence 
the word was passed on up the line to Herr 
Gottfried himself that Parfait Potin, the 
tinker of Tours, was missing. From the 
highest to the lowest they fumed and fretted, 
and at last, as the only recourse, sent on his 

It was the next day when Herr Gottfried 
received the note that, I am convinced, so 
nearly broke his comprehending heart. It 
read : — 

" Most Respected Monsieur, — To-day I 
walked over to the province of Brooklyn 
across the big bridge, and some men were 
mending a strand. They were good tinkers, 
but not so quick as P*. _'- ; t Potin. Truly, 
monsieur, I am a very good tinker, perhaps 
the best that ever lived. I watched, and it 
set me to thinking, for I had a great hunger 
of thought, and it seemed to me we Potins 
are like the bridge, all the strands must be 
together and hold together ; or if one breaks 
the whole bridge goes very bad. At the boule- 
vard Eastern and the Avenue Nostrand, when 
the hunger was worst, sweet smoke filled the 
air, and voices of laughing children and 
barking of dogs and the whinny of horses, 
and then something more. A tinker such as 
I, hammering his iron ! I wanted to talk to 
them, but I looked too fine in the clothes you 
•bought me, and they spoke not, and I was a 
very lonesome man. Everything around the 
forge made me think of my Touraine. You 
may laugh at me, monsieur, but lately when 
I sleep at night I see its friendly trees, and 
they whisper things and beckon, and the 
nightingale is sad for the tinker who used 
to whistle back an answer to his song. I 
cannot sing any more, monsieur, that song 
in ' Pagliacci ' about the basket of memories. 
It hurts too much, for my basket of memories 
is too full. So I am going back to my own, 
to the caravan, the fields, the forests, and the 
forge, to which I, the tinker, was born. A 
steamer sails to-day for France, on which 
goes the one who bids you adieu ! 

" Parfait Potin." 

That was all ! He was gone ! The world 
of lights and shine had lost him as if he had 
never been. The voice that had swung and 
swayed and torn the emotions of thousands 
was lost for ever, for his step was irrevocable. 

One evening, not long since, I came down 
the long strip of road from Bourre, where 
they grow the mushrooms, and, weary and 
longing, held my wheel straight to the heart 
of Pont Levoy. There is a fine, old plaza 
there, sheltered by stately trees, and dim 
shadows and ancient walls; and the mysterious 





softness of things which do not change. A 
caravan had bivouacked in a shady nook, 
the most wonderful vehicle I had ever seen 
outside a circus parade- It was bedight 
with gilt and fitted regardless of expense. A 
decrepit but contented horse hovered around, 
gathering the last mouthfuls of his day's 
repast, while a huge Norman, worthy of a 
horse-show's adulation, slept^ fat and full. 

beside a tree. And suddenly, as I paused, 
there came the spread of a splendid voice in 
song, and then I knew ! Parfait Pol in , 
richer than all his tribe, lost to the vast, 
swarming cities of glitter and wealth, had 
come to his own again. The basket of 
memories had tailed him home from across 
the conquered seas, and in that calling and 
its response lie bad found content, 



[The illustrations which appear in the following article are reproduced from 

" Fliegende Blatter/' by special permission of the Proprietors, who, for the benefit 

of the readers of " The Strand Magazine/' have relaxed their strict rule of never 

allowing their illustrations to appear in any other publication.] 

HE humour of nations differs 
just as does the humour of 
periods, and it is not always 
either easy or fair to judge 
its products from a foreign 
standpoint or from one far 
removed in point of time. 
The jokes which kept the ancient Greeks and 
Romans laughing for centuries seem childish 
and worse to us — tragically dismal more often 
than not. And we may come much nearer 
to our own times — so near, in fact, as fifty 
years ago — and fail to detect the full flavour 
of the fun of our own grandfathers. Some 
of the famed humorous books of the middle 
nineteenth century awake no more than 
hollow smiles — interspersed with yawns — on 
any rare modern occasion when a reader 
feels tempted to dive into their pages once 
more. And yet neither the ancient Greeks 
nor our own grandfathers were imbeciles, as 
many other works of their brains remain to 
testify ; wherefore we must conclude that 
there is something elusive, something evanes- 
cent, in the nature of humour, which is lost 
by effluxion of time — and by travel. There 
is often the same trouble with cigars. 

In the matter of nationality it is not always 
a mere question of difficulty in translation ; 
a perfectly translatable joke may fail to 
" carry " with foreigners, so that it is all 
a possibility that Carlyle's German baron, 
jumping on tables by way of learning to be 
lively, was less a clown than he seems, and 
that Voltaire may have been mistaken when 
he wished the Germans more wit and fewer 

But all this is a matter of written and 
spoken humour merely. In pictures we have 
a universal language, and in so far as the 
humour is purely pictorial; no frontier bounds 

or obscures it. Still, a joke which is all in 
the picture is a rarity, and many a quite 
humorously-drawn picture depends largely 
on the legend accompanying it. In our 
brief peep into some recent volumes of the 
national German comic paper, Fliegende 
Blatter, we shall have the opportunity of 
judging of half-a-dozen pictorial jokes, of 
which some are independent of text and 
others are not. 

It may be well to remind our readers that 
Fliegende Blatter occupies much the same 
position in Germany as does Punch in Great 
Britain. Punch is now just seventy years 
of age, and Fliegende Blatter is only three 
years younger. In its early days the German 
publication dealt with politics at least as 
freely as Punch does now, but for many 
years back this element has been rigidly 
banned. In one respect Fliegende Blatter 
must be very nearly unique, if not quite so, 
among weekly publications of to-day ; for it 
continues still to publish wood-cut illus- 
trations, and very admirably-executed wood- 
cuts they are. This, in a day when wood- 
engraving is near to being a lost art, is in 
itself a remarkable claim to distinction and 
notice. No doubt the survival is due to a 
sense of pride on the part of the proprietors, 
who are the sons of the original founders of 
the paper, Braun and Schneider, who were 
artists and wood-engravers, and who started 
Fliegende Blatter sixty-seven years ago with 
the idea of making it the vehicle for the very 
best specimens they could produce of the 
then universal and flourishing art. Every- 
body who remembers the extraordinarily rapid 
downfall of wood-engraving on the intro- 
duction of photographic process-work, and 
who regrets the disappearance of a very 
characteristic and distinguished art, will 



honour Messrs. Braun and Schneider, juniors, 
for so faithfully keeping the flag flying; in 
these late days, at an expense which there is 
every temptation to evade. 

Much more might be written of Fliegende 
Blatter and its history {Flying Leaves, by the 
way, is the title in English) and of the famous 
artists who have contributed to its pages in 
the past ; but space is short/ and it is time 
to turn to our selection of pictures from last 
year's volumes, First comes u drawing that 
needs no legend — a drawing taken from the 

their ears, they roll and gasp, except one 
enthusiast of unnatural determination ^ who 
folds his arms, knits his brows, sets his teeth, 
and braves the din to the last At the end of 
the rows, too, stands a stout uniformed seller 
of programmes and letter of opera -glasses, 
complacently calm and unmoved. It is easy 
to see, however, that long experience has made 
him stone-deaf, In the fore part of the 
orchestra is a row of drums of every sort, 
beaten with the wildest fury, Fiddlers by 
the dozen compete with pairs and triplets of 


second January number. " A Modern 
Opera " is the title, and the picture is full 
of quaint character and incident. Plainly 
the satire is directed against those later 
composers who out-Wagner Wagner, and here 
the enormous orchestra, the uproarious din, 
and the alarming effect on the audience are 
brought to the comic extreme. The orchestra 
almost crowds the audience off the floor, 
with the exception of a hapless double row, 
who, imprisoned between orchestra and 
stage, fall hopeless and helpless victims to 
the full fury of the storm. Here we observe 
one victim carried out in a state of collapse 
by duly-appointed Red Cross attendants, 
while others remain to writhe in agony and 
to fall in their turn. They clap their hands to 

enormous brazen instruments, and a double 
set of cymbals clashes in unison. In the 
centre at the front — after the Continental 
fashion — we see the prompter, fortunately 
shielded from the direct blast of sound by 
his box, and sending his hints to the stage 
performers through a speaking-trumpet. We 
look on the picture, in fact, from the stage, 
and so are able to judge of the full effect of 
the music. People clasp their heads in 
hopeless agony, or hang over the fronts of 
boxes exhausted. A hapless wife flings her 
arms round her maddened husband, and 
restrains him with difficulty from a three- 
storey leap into the midst of the orchestra ; 
a devoted husband opposite attempts to 
revive his unconscious wife with a smelling* 




things through an car- 
trumpet ! The whole design 
is full of spirit and inven- 
tion, and it is unfortunate 
that the necessary reduc- 
tion of the reproduction 
mikes it somewhat less dis- 

A, Roeseler is a most 
powerful draughtsman 

whose work has been 
familiar in Fliegende Blatter 
for long past. We have 
here an " Idyll/* apropos of 
last year's comet. In a 
dressing-gown and a night- 
cap an amateur astronomer 
has mounted his roof and 
makes the most of the 
genial warmth of his 
chimney by sitting on it to 
view the comet through a 
toy telescope* Through 
a trap -door comes a small 
boy whose task it is to keep 
up a constant supply of 
beer for the sustenance of 
the philosopher. Three 
empty pots already em- 
bellish the tiles by the foot 
of the chimney-pot which 
is the throne of science 
for the time being, one not 
yet wholly empty is gripped 

bottle; everywhere 
people stuff fingers 
and fists into their 
ears, and the very 
stone caryatides 
supporting the 
architrave at the 
end wriggle in their 
torture and clap 
hands to ears. In 
a box to our left 
a young officer 
under cover of the 
uproar passes a 
note to a young 
lady in the box 
adjoining ; and in 
the row above the 
sole smiling face 
in the whole house 
is seen to be that 
of a deaf old lady 
who is trying to 
catch the "drift of 


Amatrur Moloriit r " Eitun- me, but can you direct mf to Groj Bukrmdorf ^ '" 

Slandenlipp : "To Grot Btrkcrdorf ? Certainly, •ir—irmijht >m nhrough ihe otW wall, if you 




"Hulln. Miller 1 What are you doina in the ditch?"* 
"Qh — the conquest of the air, yan know- -just the conquest of the ait I 

in the pundit's hand, and reinforcements, in 
the shape of another, quile full, ascend 
through the trap- way ; while on another 
roof-ridge two vagrant cats watch the pursuit 
of knowledge with doubtful stare. This, like 
the first of our illustrations, carries its mean- 


Actor: "Wonderful chip. Boflvivant 1 _ Never knew wch a 
to-day* but he waited till we were both Lyme ' dead * in the lait act, 

ing and fanciful oddity on its face, with no 
aid from letterpress. 

The next picture is also from the hand of 
Roeseter, hut, striking as it is, it derives some 
aid from the text that goes with it. Let us 
imagine, if we can, the previous adventures 

of the very ama- 

HB^anaMian teur motorist who 

finds his sudden 
passage through a 
cottage wall so 
little of a novelty 
that he calmly 
asks his way of 
the inmates ! 

Stories of actors 
and stories of bor- 
rowers, and even 
stories of actors 
who were bor* 
rowers, are no 
novelties either in 
Germany or in this 
country. But a 
story of an actor* 
borrower with a 
better sense of 
opportunity than 
Bonvivant, hero 
of the adventure 
here pictured, 
would be hard to 

borrower t ] though' id" dudacd Juifl j- j A „ +rt - * 

■od then lirH m* for h*» a *rcv* R Jf .- u .W . Or tO Ul Vent, 


There is nothing like seizing the opportunity 
as soon as it presents itself. One is distantly 
reminded X)f the pallid, long-haired youth who 
found himself (and his opportunity) in a 
crowded tube-lift which stuck half-way, 

"Are we really stuck 
tight ? " he asked the 
attendant, anxiously. 

** Yes, sir— till the 
workmen put things 

" Can anybody get 
out now ? " 

"Certainly not, sir," 

*' Thanks'! Ladies 
and gentlemen, I will 
now recite ( Christmas 
Day in the Work- 
house } i " 

There has been so 
much tragedy among 
the intrepid few who 
have given themselves 
to aviation of late 
years that a tittle 
comedy, or even farce, 
is doubly welcome— is 
irn per a t i v el y n eed ed , 
in fact, to keep the 
balance fair- Ftiegende 
Blatter h ready with 
it. and there is a 
pleasant irony in the 
innocent reply of the 
gentleman in the ditch 
who explains that he 
is merely engaged in 
the conquest of the air. 
However , one should 
remember that it is but 
a very few years ago 
that all the comic 
papers had the motor- 
ist equally at their 
mercy, and the motor 
breakdown bade fair 
for a season to rival 
the mother-in-law as a joke for perma- 
nent stock. Probably by the time that 
Fliegtnde Blatter triumphantly completes its 
hundredth year such drawings as this will be 
collected as curiosities by a generation of 


less rarely than a 

'Whit on tarrh ii the matter down l he re ?* 

you wil 

1, flood mor 
j| hodlr ml 

flyers who fall even 

motorist falls now. 

W, Stockmann is an artist whose work has 

delighted readers of Fliegende Blatter for 

many years. Here he gives us a group of 
midnight ro y s tere rs 
who have brought an 
outraged householder 
out of bed in a stale of 
furious agitation to 
listen to a polite re- 
quest for permission to 
smell the lilac growing 
over his wall. Some of 
us will remember an 
English parallel ; the 
story which tells of a 
pawnbroker who pro- 
tests angrily when 
similarly brought to 
his window by a re- 
quest to know the 
time, " But you've 
got my watch, old 
feller 1 " explains the 
hilarious visitor, 

Still another such 
anecdote comes to the 
recollection, one which 
is now so old as to 
have again become 
new. Again the scene 
is a quiet street in the 
dead of night, and 
again a cheerful home- 
goer rings and knocks 
furiously at a door till 
a sleepy and alarmed 
head emerges from an 
upper window with a re- 
quest for explanations. 
"Ah, good evening 
— morning, I mean— 
my dear sir. I think 
you advertised in this 
1 morning's — yesterday 
m or n i ng * s — Times f o r 
share your Continental 

morning ! We've iu*t knocked yihj up 
,llow us lo imell your delightful |jlu 

to aik 


a companion 
tour ? ■ 
" Yes ; but what 

" All right, all right ! I just looked round 
to say I couldn't come, that's all ! 1J 

Vol, xlil— 

by Google 

Original from 

By a Method Strange and NT 


Illustrated by ^V. H. Margetson. 


T was with something ap- 
proaching haste — more, with 
an inward excitement for 
which she was at a loss to 
account — that Rosalind re- 
turned to her new lodgings 
upon the afternoon of the most 
fatiguing day that she ever remembered to 
have spent. 

The November twilight was over all. The 
small street without lay dun and colourless 
in the dusk. Her sitting-room was on the 
first floor of the ancient, timbered house 
which leaned forward from the row of neat, 
modern stone dwellings in the humbler quarter 
of the old Devon port. 

It was, however, the furniture of the sitting- 
room which had made the young secretary 
feel that, at any price, she must lodge in 
No. 7, Harbour Row. 

The landlady was uncommunicative, and 
had not agreeable manners. The new lodger 
had not ventured upon many inquiries. She 
had gazed in mute wonder upon the gate- 
legged table, the genuine oak bureau, the 
carven chest, the quaint chairs, and the 
shelves which went like a dado round the 
room, some of which were filled with books, 
of a kind and in quantities almost enough to 
warrant its being called a library. 

When first she saw the rooms she had stood 
amazed, as one who, opening an ordinary 
oyster, should find a pearl within. Editions 
of Borrow, Meredith, Fitzgerald, Jane Austen, 
and Arthur Machen smiled at her from their 
niches ; poets, philosophers, classics jostled 
the ultra-moderns in that remarkably un- 
expected collection. 

" If I take these rooms, might I use the 
books ? " she had asked, the hunger of the 
book-lover throbbing in her heart. 

To which the landlady, Mrs. Moon, had 
made this rejoinder : " I'm sure / sha'n't 
hinder yer." 

Upon the mantelpiece some vandal hand, 
probably that of Mrs. Moon, had arranged a 
stuffed kingfisher, two shell boxes, and two 
photographs of young women. 

Rosalind's first act on taking possession 

had been to move these atrocities out of 
sight. She substituted one or two of her own 

At ten o'clock that morning she had duly 
betaken herself up the narrow, tortuous alleys 
of the old town of Penmawther to the 
romantic house and grounds of the cele- 
brated novelist, Mrs. Cantrell Curnock, who 
had engaged her as secretary. 

Rosalind was practically alone in the world, 
except for one or two distant relatives, who 
hardly counted. She had enough money to 
keep her from want, but felt the need of work 
to fill her detached existence. 

She did not expect an easy post, for she 
had heard of her new employer's neurotic 
temperament. Her first day was dispiriting. 
Nothing that she did seemed to please. She 
persevered, however, fulfilling as best she 
could the demands of a querulous egotist ; 
and as she was leaving was astonished by the 
words with which she was dismissed. 

"Well," said the spoiled celebrity, "at 
least you are well-bred, and you have your 
head screwed on all right. I think you may 
be able to settle into my ways before long." 

This was encouraging ; and Rosalind found 
her journey back the shorter for the stimulus 
the words afforded. She almost ran home to 
her books and her fascinating abode. 

The fire burned clear, the kettle sang on 
the hob. How inviting was that queer chair 
with its high back and sides — its two corners 
framed to support the head of the reader ! 
Mrs. Moon had put her little loaf, her butter, 
and her cream upon the table. She had but 
to make tea, draw in her chair, select a book 
out of all that wealth spread before her — and 
what an evening of rest and ease after the 
fret and strain of her difficult day's work ! 

She sipped her tea in a content that tended 
to drowsiness. As she so sat, thinking of 
nothing, in indolent well-being, she heard a 
latch-key thrust into the lock of the street- 
door below. In the silence she clearly dis- 
tinguished each sound made by the person 
who entered — the stamp of feet upon the 
mat, the smart closing of the door, and steps 
upon the firm oak stair , which was one of the 

um * lpiji 



surprises of the house, being unusually wide. 
The new-comer gained the stair-head and 
walked smartly along the passage towards her 
room. A hand was laid upon the latch, on 
which she started broad awake. The handle 
was heard to turn and the door to open* She 
sat .staring towards it in a stupefaction which 
was not unmixed with horror ; for though she 
heard it open, the door remained tnanifestly 

She could not escape from the conclusion 
that someone had entered. There was a 
pause, exactly as though the new-comer, on 
catching sight of her, had stood still. Then 
the steps actually crossed the room to the 

Rosalind leaned forward, her ears preter- 

naturally on the alert. She held her breath 
and felt sure that she could hear the audible 
respiration of a person who has just run 
upstairs. Her fine eighteenth-century clock, 
in mahogany case with brass inlay, was 
ticking upon the mantelshelf. Against the 
wall behind it was propped a photograph of 
Watts 1 s " Love and Death. " Miniatures of 
her grandparents stood on either side. They 
were by the hand of a master. 

Had she trusted to the witness of her cars. 
not her eyeSj she could have sworn that 
somebody had come into the room, and was 
now examining the ornaments over the fire- 
place. There may have been a draught, 
which had travelled slowly upstairs from the 
opening door below ; anyhow, the photo- 









graph swayed and fell forwards, much as 
though a hand had brushed it. 

There was a tap at the door. Mrs. Moon 
stood there, with that curious expression in 
her eyes that seemed like a lurking watchful- 

" Shall I clear the tea, miss ? " she asked. 

Rosalind recovered herself with an effort. 
Had she been asleep ? She looked round j 
the presence was no longer felt. 

" Yes, please clear ; I have quite done." 

There was a moment's silence while Mrs. 
Moon collected the things upon a tray. 

" By the way," said Rosalind, " I heard 
somebody come in with a latch-key just now. 
I should rather like a latch-key myself." 

" I'll ask Moon about it, miss." 

" Have you another lodger besides me ? " 

" No, miss. That was Moon come in jus!; 

There was a pause. The woman was 
sending furtive glances at the girl as she folded 
the cloth. Presently she said : " You 
mustn't let the creaking of the boards annoy 
you, miss." 

" The creaking of the boards ? " 

" Yes, miss. Moon and me, we occupies 
the room behind this, and it seems as if there 
was a kind of a viberration of the floor. When 
he opens that door and steps over that floor, 
it do sound uncommon like as if somebody 
was doing that same in this front room." 

She observed the look of relief steal over 
Rosalind's expressive face. 

" How curious ! " breathed the young 
lodger. " It was just as if he came into this 

" Quite so, miss. I thought I would just 
tell you how it was." 

She completed her ministrations, closed the 
door, and vanished. The evening passed in 
a delightful peace. Rosalind, who had 
literary ambitions of her own, meditated a 
course of reading, with a view to the acquisi- 
tion of style. She outlined her authors, of 
many different types, and determined to 
begin with a complete course of Stevenson. 

When she hurried to her work next morning 
she had made up her mind that, whatever the 
hardships of her position should prove to be, 
she would stick to her work, in order to 
remain in so inspiring an entourage. 

Had she but known it, her employer on her 
side was equally anxious to keep her. Before 
she had tried her new secretary for a week 
she knew that she had found a treasure. Her 
manner grew kinder, and Rosalind began to 
feel secure. 

One afternoon she had a curious intimation 

that some person used her room when she was 
out. Walking in as usual, she found a chair 
drawn up to the table, a book lying open, 
and beside it a sheet of paper and a pencil. 
She yvent near, with a feeling of surprise. 
The book was a volume of Browning. It 
lay open at the poem called " Mesmerism." 
One or two of the stanzas of the poem had 
been very faintly pencil-marked down the 
side, as if to draw attention to them. 

All I believed is true! 

I am able yet 

All I want to get 
By a method as strange as new: 
Dare I trust the same to you ? 

If, at night, when doors are shut 

And the wood-worm picks 

And the death-watch ticks . . . 
And the socket floats and flares, 

And the house-beams groan, 

And a foot unknown 
Is surmised on the garret stairs, 
And the locks slip, unawares ... 

A subtle terror invaded the girl's very soul. 
She stood in the dusk of a wild winter gloam- 
ing, with the shrieking wind making the tim- 
bers of the old house creak about her. Except 
for Mrs. Moon, coming to remove the tea- 
things, she should not see a human soul until 
the next morning. And here upon her table 
lay what read like an unearthly message. 

With an impulse of anger, she crossed to 
the bell and rang it pretty sharply. 

It was some two or three minutes before 
the landlady appeared in response ; minutes 
filled in by a voice that seemed repeating in 
her brain — " A method as strange as new ! 
Dare I trust the same to you ? " * 

" Mrs. Moon, who has been using my 
room ? " she demanded, tremulously, as an 
anxious face looked in. 

" There now/' said Mrs. Moon, " it was my 
cousin Fanny, miss. She was over for the 
day to see me. She don't often come, but 
when she do it's more than I can do to hold 
her back from the books. She always was 
such a one for reading. I'm sure I'm very 
sorry, miss. I hope she ain't spoilt nothing." 
Her attitude was meekly apologetic. 

At once Rosalind felt ashamed of herself. 
Was a solitary life already making her nervy ? 
She hastily assured Mrs. Moon that Fanny 
was welcome to come and look at the books. 

" Poetry, as like as not. She's a queer one, 
Fanny," observed Fanny's cousin, beginning 
to lay the cloth. 

" How came you to have so many books ? " 
asked Rosalind!: j f rQTn 

"^*iTOVte^ asale ' miss ' 



dirt cheap. He 

wanted the shelves, 

or I should say I 

wanted 'em- And 

we had to take the 

books as well." 
Rosalind watched 

Mrs. Moon narrowly. 

The shelves hadj 

most undoubtedly, 

the aspect of having 

been made to fit the 

room. But the 

woman's unruffled 

face was not the face 

of a liar. When she 

was left alone she 

had hardly the cour- 
age to take up the 

volume of Fanny's 

preference. Yet she 

did so, and read 

the poem through. 

Then she turned to 

the fly-leaf. Most 

of the books in the 

collection had no 

owner's name in- 
scribed within. This 
one was , however. 

marked with the 

initials " L. V." 

As she held it she 
heard, as she often 
did, the sound of the 
latch-key thnist into 
the lock below. She 
listened. There were 
the sounds of running 
feet upon the stair. 
Leaping from her 
chair she flew to her 
own door, flung it 
wide, and stood well 
out into the oak- 
ponelkd passage, to 
see Moon go into his 
bark room in the way 
that caused so peculiar a " viberration." 

The steps ascended , but no Moon was visible, 
except for the pale light of that in the heavens, 
which was the only light outside her door, 

The unseen visitor went some steps along 
the passage towards her. Then it was just as 
though he saw her. He paused. 

The words rang in her ears—" By a method 
as strange as new." In her scare she 
thought she heard again the quickly-drawn, 
impulsive breath, close, close to her. 




" No ! JS she cried aloud. " Don't trust it 
to me ! I don't want to know it ! I am 
afraid of you ! " 

Once more a sound in the tingling silence — 
a sound as if he caught his breath. Then the 
footsteps quietly and slowly receded. She 
heard them descend the stairs, cross the hall, 
heard the door bang, . . 

The storm without wailed. Black clouds, 
hurrying oveir the moon, blotted out the 
st&ir-l^H#ii l,E EFli'l¥^ l 3f b f- l fK SftSV?^ 55 ' She fled 



back to the lamp-lit warmth of her room, 
with a heart beating like a hammer ; and, 
sinking down into her chair, was conscious 
of nothing clearly for a long, long time. 

It required a tremendous effort of courage 
for Rosalind to go to bed that night. For 
the first time in those rooms she was oppressed 
with a sense of isolation. The delightful 
thing about her new home had been that, 
though alone, she had ever felt companioned 
there. Now it seemed that the companion- 
ship had been withdrawn. Fantastically she 
felt that she had driven it away. She had 
said, " I am afraid of you." 

If, however, her ghost was so tractable 
that one decided word from herself had 
exorcized him, all might be well. Yet it 
seemed that his rooms had been more com- 
fortable with him than without him. In 
the middle of the night she woke to the 
remembrance that Mrs. Moon had told her 
a deliberate falsehood about the " viber- 
ration " and Moon's entrance with the latch- 
key. In her heart she knew that Moon never 
by any chance came in by the front door. 
Then it was clear that the Moons knew the 
rooms were haunted. 

An unaccountable depression of spirits 
assailed her. All night she was wretched, 
and she awoke wretched. 

Mrs. Cantrell Curnock was that afternoon 
giving a tea-party, and had invited her new 
secretary to be present and help her with 
her duties as hostess. This was an unwonted 
excitement, as she would meet the county 
set for the first time. She put on her prettiest 
frock, and wished she did not look so pale. 

The lady novelist was very much the 
fashion at Penmawther, and everybody was 
at her reception. 

One, charming Mrs. Benson, wife of a 
neighbouring squire, took a fancy to Rosalind, 
and cordially invited her to come to dinner. 
The girl caught at the idea of an evening away 
from her ghost and his books. 

Mrs. Benson wrote her name and address. 

" Miss Moore, 7, Harbour Row. Why, 
that is — surely that is the timbered house, 
isn't it ? " 

Rosalind said it was. 

" Oh, dear, that's most interesting ! " said 
her new friend, who was quite young and 
somewhat imprudent. 

" Why is it interesting ? " asked the girl, 

" Your predecessor there — poor Leonard 
Verrail. But I expect you have heard all 
about him ? " 

" Never a word ! Do tell me ! Did all 
the books belong to him ? How exciting ! 
Let me hear all about it." 

Mrs. Benson looked grave ; she seemed 

" Are you comfortable there ? " she asked, 
somewhat irrelevantly. 

There was quite a noticeable pause. 
Rosalind really did not know what to 

" They are delightful rooms," she brought 
out at last. 

" And Mrs. Moon is a nice woman ? " 

" Quite. Very clean, very honest, and a 
good cook." 

" Poor soul ! She has had such bad luck 
with her lodgers ! Ten sets in nine weeks 
last summer, somebody said." 

Rosalind leaned forward earnestly towards 
the speaker. " Do you know why they 
left ? " 

" Well, I only knew one set — London 
friends of my own. They thought that Mrs. 
Moon was mad. It was rather awkward for 
me, because it was all my doing, their going 
there. I said the rooms were so exceptionally 
charming — all just as poor Leonard left them. 
And they were fascinated when they saw 
them ; but they said there was always some- 
body in and out — listening at the door, 
moving their things while they were out, and 
so on. I thought it must be their fancy ; but, 
you see, other people were not comfortable 
there. It relieves me to hear that you are." 

" Did you know Mr. Verrail ? " 

" Oh, quite well." 

" Why should you not tell me about him ? 
I have been at Harbour Row a fortnight ; 
you needn't be afraid to speak." 

" Well, he was a brilliant young fellow, and 
wrote that novel that everybody talked so 
much about, * A Knight of St. John.' He 
came to live down here because he said he 
could write better away from the wear and 
tear of London. But really it was because 
he was infatuated with Mrs. Cantrell Curnock. 
It was one of those cases that are so hopeless 
and so distressing. As I suppose you know, 
she has a husband somewhere, and she is ten 
years older than young Verrail. But it was 
of no use to talk to him — or to her, either. She 
behaved very badly, we all think. And then, 
just as it was at its highest, the Mackintyres 
came to the neighbourhood, and she took a 
fancy to the Colonel, and poor Leonard's day 
was over. He was a dear fellow, and my 
husband liked him extremely. But he could 
not stand uv under the blow. And one day 
hedi« n? e.^d.». 0FM|CH|eAN 



" Do you mean that he — did away with 

M We fear he did. He sent a letter to 
Mrs, C. C.j telling her that after that day he 
should cease to be* At first we thought he 
had gone off, just to see what would happen. 
But it is not easy to disappear off the face of 
the earth nowadays, and I believe his people 
made considerable inquiry, He had taken a 
boat, as he often did, and rowed off alone out 
of the harbour. The boat was found drifting. 

Harbour Row, everyone has thought him 

Rosalind did not reply. She felt unable to 
say anything, because her sensations were so 
peculiar. Her main idea was a passionate 
sympathy for Leonard Verrall, and anger at 
her own cowardice and unkindness in sending 
him away. After a while she said : — 

" You may tell everybody that there is no 
truth in this talc of the haunting of Harbour 
Row. I am very comfortable there/' 


with all the clothes he had worn in it. We 
thought it possible that he had bathed and 
been taken with (Tamp, but his body was 
never found. My husband declared that he 
had just rowed out to some ship and got 
taken aboard her, and sailed off to make a 
fortune abroad. But since— since these 
stories got about in Penmawther about 

* L Perhaps you are not imaginative/ y said 
Mrs, Benson , hopefully. 

" Perhaps not/' said Rosalind, 

She went home in a whirlwind of emotion. 
Had she scared away the sensitive, craving 
presence, whkh ws^. longing to express itself 



If it had not been for her vulgar, instinctive 
fear of the occult, would she have had some 
message, some confidence from the hot, 
impulsive young soul which had thrown aside 
its earthly life so madly ? 

Her detestation of Mrs. Cantrell Curnock 
increased with every moment. She found 
herself championing the cause of Leonard 
Verrall with a violence which she would 
have found ludicrous, could she have looked 
upon it calmly. She felt as if this unknown 
young man were an intimate friend, some- 
one whose tastes and habits she knew, and 
with whom she found herself altogether in 

" Dare I trust the same to you ? " 

He had dared, and she had proved un- 
worthy of his venture of faith. She was full 
of shame and remorse. If the thing could be 
undone, she was going to undo it. 

Her room lay mysterious and quiet in the 
rich glow of firelight when she entered. She 
would not kindle the lamp. Removing her 
hat and outdoor wraps, she sat down in the 
high-backed chair, and for the first time in her 
life set herself to call without a voice — to use 
that " method of communication other than 
that of the recognized channels of the senses," 
with which hitherto she had been utterly 

It was half-past seven. She never remem- 
bered hearing the latch-key later than half- 
past six. The room was empty of all but her- 
self — she knew and felt that it was. Her 
repentance and her inward summons grew 
more vehement. Without uttering the word, 
she yet repeated it in her brain, over and over 
— " Leonard ! Leonard ! " 

She did not know how long she sat in her 
chair, rigid and in concentration. But at 
last she heard the familiar sound of the key 
thrust in the door below. She sat forward in 
the firelight, every muscle tense. He came 
upstairs very slowly, entered, and closed the 
door. There his footfall paused. He was 

Every pulse in her body beat, every nerve 

" Come," she said, aloud — " come ; I am 
waiting for you. I am calling for you." 

She held her breath. If the steps were not 
heard again, what should she do ? If she 
were not certain whether he was there or not, 
she thought she might go mad. She heard 
him advance, still slowly and as if in doubt 
of his welcome. 

" Sit facing me — in that chair," she said, 
tremulously. " Oh, why can I not see you ? 
It would not be so awful if I could see you ! 

Digitized by V.t«- 

Can't you do something — anything — to make 
me sure that you are there ? " 

A sigh released itself from the silence. It 
might have been merely the leaping fire, or 
the draught ; but it sounded like a sigh. It 
was followed by a movement. This was 
impossible to define, but a person who had 
been seated might have made such small 
sounds in rising from his seat. A wonderful 
sensation was upon her — the same that she 
had felt in the passage last night when his 
nearness made her cry out, " I am afraid of 
you ! " It was as though he was very near 
her — overshadowing her. By a tremendous 
effort of self-control, she neither recoiled nor 
screamed ; and she felt, unmistakably, the 
gentle but firm touch of lips upon her forehead. 

" Oh ! " she cried, gasping. " Oh ! Then 
you have forgiven me ! " 

It was all she was capable of. The room 
reeled about her, and she lost all sense of out- 
ward things. 

When she became conscious Mrs. Moon, 
with a face of miserable apprehension, was 
standing over her. 

She forced a smile as she sat up. " Have 
I been asleep ? " 

li Asleep ? Was it asleep, miss ? I thought 
you was ill," said the woman, suspiciously. 

" 111 ? No, I never was better," cried 
Rosalind, with a little laugh. " And I am 
so hungry. Why, it's nine o'clock ! I did a 
hard day's work, and then had to help Mrs. 
Curnock with her guests. I expect my nap 
will do me good." 

The relieved Mrs. Moon beamed upon her. 
" Oh, dear," said she ; " you are a sensible 
young lady ! Not like some." 

Rosalind did not inquire her meaning. 
She knew it too accurately. 

While she ate her supper her mind was 
busy. Her heart beat with long, deep strokes 
when she recalled that visionary caress. 
With that she had crossed a Rubicon, and 
belonged • to the ghost of Leonard Verrall. 
Why was he there ? What did he want of 
her ? This was the thing she had to ascertain. 
His questing spirit was seeking the place it 
knew on earth — with what purpose ? 

Many times it had wandered thither, find- 
ing the old home in possession of those who 
could never understand. Then he had found 
her. It struck her that there was something 
here in the nature of wireless telegraphy. 
She was, as it were, an instrument tuned to 

What she had to do was to discover his 
desire. In all the ghost stories she had read 
the restless spirit sought the satisfaction of 




some unfulfilled purpose. She became con- 
scious that her ignorance in such matters was 
deplorable* Surely, among all those books, 
there must be some that dealt with psychic 
subjects ! 

The moment she had done supper she went 
carefully round the well-filled shelves, and 
found a large supply of the kind of literature 
she sought. One volume 
of well-authenticated rases 
of thought - transference 
seemed curiously in touch 
with her own experience* 

In the collection one 
anecdote in particular held 
her attention. It was one 
which was vouched for by 
the late Rew Norman 
Macleod : — 

A ship was steaming through 
tropical latitudes. One day the 
captain, walking on the deck, 
saw through the window of his 
cabin a strange man, seated, 
and apparently writing- Hi- 
noted the cap worn by thi< 
man, the colour of hU beard 
;ihd coat. EnterinR the cabin 
as quickly as he could, he found 
it vacant* But tijx>n a sheet o\ 
blank paper which lay on the 
table were written these words - 
* L Steer E.5.E., for Cod's sake! T 
The captain was so impressed 
by this incident that he actual I v 
altered his course ; and after 
some hours sighted a r»f(, on 
whi"h were several men, dying 
of thirst. Among theni he re- 
marked the man who had sat 
in his cabin. When questioned, 
this man said he had had a 
curious dream, in which he saw 
the ship which afterwards 
rescued them, entered the 
cabin , and wrote his message, 

Rosalind asked herself 
straight out why thai 
appealed to her so forcibly 
It was because, in that story, the transmitter 
of the spirit message was a living man. 

When, very late, she closed her books and 
went to bed , she had no fear and no ui*. easi- 
ness. She slept excellently, and awoke with 
that odd sense of joy which results when a 
woman has just, for the first time, learned 
that she is beloved. 

The next nitjht, when she came back to her 
rooms, the spirit of adventure was strong upon 

She seized again upon her book of psychic 
stories, and was carrying it to her place when 
accidentally she let it drop, and a half-sheet 
of paper fluttered out and fell to the floor* 

Upon it was written, in a clear ^ bold hand: — 
* c In case of my disappearance, my last 
wishes will be found in the secret drawer of 
the bureau. Touch the spring inside the top 
right-hand small drawer, and the pilaster will 
move out.— L. V*" 

Up sprang Rosalind, and, afier a few 
minutes 1 fumbling found the spring, Out 

| 5 

<;|RL-I.IKF, IT WAS AT THIi I'UOTOT.K \Ht HlAl MM: ln-kUh Ml I 

particular story 
. She knew whw 

ft* itii,-ia 

by Google 

came a slice of the bureau, about the size and 
shape of a book, Tn the thin drawer whi h 
it contained were two or three papers and a 
photograph. Girl-like, it was at the photo- 
graph that she looked first. It showed a face 
rather interesting than beautiful — a long, 
prominent chin, and eyes full of fire, The 
thick, curling hair looked dark in the pii'ture, 
The eyes met her own, full and penetrating. 
She thought of the kiss and blushed scarlet, 
standing there spellbound. 

It was all embittered by the inscription 
underneath ; '* To lie given to Adela after 
my death*" Adela was the Christian namt 
ol the great novelist. 

Hesides this there was an open envelope, 
addressed to Mrs, Moon. Ought she to look 
Original from 




within ? As she hesitated ? she saw that there 
were initials faintly scrawled in pencil above 
the address — " R. M.," her own initials. The 
same faint, wavering pencil had been drawn 
through the name of Mrs. Moon. 

It was enough for Rosalind. Leonard 
Verrall belonged to her, his room belonged 
to her. She was going to read what she felt 
convinced he wished her to read. 

" Should I disappear, I wish rtiy rooms 
and all in them to be left as they are for a 
period of twelve months. Enclosed are four 
five-pound notes, for the rent of them during 
that time. Should no further instructions 
come from me at the end of the year, I shall 
be dead, and Mrs. Moon is at liberty to do 
what she pleases with all my things." 

The date of this letter was February of the 
year then fast drawing to its close. He hati 
not, then, yet been missing for twelve 

It was easy to guess what had happened. 
He had written down, upon the paper she 
had that day found, a memorandum of the 
spot wherein he had hidden his final directions. 
This half-sheet he had placed, before leaving 
the house for the last time, on the table, or 
where he thought it should be easily seen by 
Mrs. Moon. That good lady, whenever she 
found a book lying open on the table, had the 
habit, as Rosalind knew well, of taking up 
any paper or note which lay near, and putting 
it in to mark the place before moving the 
volume in order to spread the cloth. This 
admirable habit had doubtless caused her to 
put the message meant for her own eyes 
away in the book, which had been ever since 

There came to Rosalind the determination 
to say nothing about her find until the twelve 
months had expired. He knew that his 
rooms were not now being profaned. His 
possessions were safe with her. She fastened 
up the documents in a sealed envelope, and 
replaced them in the secret drawer. The 
photograph she had not the strength of mind 
to put away. She hid it, but in a place where 
she could easily find it ; and she took the 
habit, at times when she was secure from 
intrusion, of getting it out, propping it up 
against a book, and talking to it. 

These chances grew, however, rarer. Her 
introduction to the neighbourhood at the 
Moor Edge tea-party had borne as its fruit 
a crop of invitations. She went out a good 
deal, for everybody found her charming. 
The vicar's wife enlisted her help for such 
matters as Christmas decorations and the 
school feast. She spent her Christmas 

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with the Bensons, was taken by them to 
one or two balls, and found herself quite 
in demand. 

It was a good thing that these social dis- 
tractions were thrown in the girl's way; 
for, oddly enough, there was a lull in her 
psychic experiences. For two or three weeks 
no key was thrust into the street-door by 
ghostly hands. Yet, for all that, there was 
never the sense of desertion of which Rosalind 
had been conscious on the night when she 
sent Leonard away. She concluded that, 
having found his messages, she had accom- 
plished his will. 

On the last night of the old year she had 
been to the vicarage for a children's party. 
When she returned, rather late, there lay on 
the hall slab a letter, with a very curious 
address : — 

" To the young lady lodging at 7, Harbour 

This letter bore an American stamp and 
a postmark of one of the more Western 
States. She had no friend in the Western 
Hemisphere, yet the document must be 
intended for her. She carried it upstairs 
and opened it. Thus it ran : — 

Am I mad, or is this possible ? Have you any real 
existence, or are you merely the child of my dreams 
and fancies ? I can hardly think so, for you always 
seem the same. Of late I have barely dropped asleep 
before I am back in the old room, with the lamplight, 
the books — and you. 

Is it true that you have taken away the stuffed king- 
fisher and put a good clock in its place ? Did you 
really meet me on the stairs and bid me begone because 
I frightened you ? Is all this fact, though seen in 
sleep — or only the craving of an increasing delirium of 
home-sickness ? Above all, is it true that you called 
me back, that you bade me do something — anything — 
to let you know that I wa:s really there — and that / 
kissed you ? 

I hardly know what I write ; but to the best of my 
knowledge and belief you did find the message in a 
book, and you have seen the photo, and know the out- 
ward semblance of the man who now speaks to you. 
If any of this wild stuff be true, I implore you to write. 
Send me your picture, tell me your name. And don*t 
go away. For pity's sake, stop there — give me some- 
thing to which to turn in my dream hours ; for, waking, 
life offers me little. After sending this, I shall do my 
best to wake, if I find myself dreaming of you. I want 
to be certain. If I let this delusion carry me too far, 
it may destroy us. 

Yours altogether — if you exist — 

Leonard Verrall. 

One cannot describe what were the girl's 
feelings upon the perusal of this letter. A 
rushing fire and a creeping chill seemed 
alternately to rule her mood. This power 
that was wielded by the man who wrote to 
her was, after all, a dreadful thing. The 

Original from 



poem, " Mesmerism," recurred to her 
mind: — 

First I will pray. Do thou 

Who owncst the soul, 

Yet wilt grant control 
To another, nor disallow 
For a time — restrain me now ! 

The thing that soothed her most was the 
last sentence of his letter. He had the sense 
of obligation. He saw the necessity of 
restraint in dealing with a force so little 
understood. She replied at once as follows : — 

It is all true. I am here, and I am conscious of you. 
My name is Rosalind Moore. Of course I thought you 
were dead. But I think you must be alive, or you 
could not write and post a letter — and that makes all 
the difference. When Leonard Verrall was alive he 
loved Mrs. Cantrell Curnock. I am not at all like 
her. If you were dead I wanted to help you. If you 
are alive I suppose you can help yourself. 

Anyway, I shall not leave this house before the 
anniversary of the day you went away — the 18th of 

After the dispatch of that letter, Rosalind 
never heard the latch-key again but once, 
and that one time she was so nearly asleep 
that she could not feel sure. It was about 
three weeks after the dispatch of her missive, 
and she had come indoors so tired after her 
long day's work that she had dozed in her 
chair after tea. In her dreams she thought 
she heard the well-known sound, and at the 
time she thought that she started awake. 
Her ear caught the footfalls, very swift and 
eager, bat hushed, as if the comer came by 
stealth and did not wish to be overheard. 

There was no pause after the gentle opening 
and closing of the door. The steps came 
quickly on, up to the hearth, to the place 
where the girl sat. This time she was far 
more terrified. It had been a mere abstrac- 
tion whose lips had pressed her forehead. 
But now the face of Leonard Verrall, full of 
life and vigour, and with eyes expressive of 
untold things, came so vividly before her 
that she could have sworn she really saw 
it, against the dark wall behind. In her 
helpless panic she yet dared not beg him to 
go away ; she felt that she must, as it were, 
stand her ground. But she knew there was 
fear in her eyes as she gazed at the visionary 
face. Did its expression change ? It faded 
— it had never been there — it was her 
imagination . . . 

But her hand, which lay upon her knee, 
felt the imprint of a lingering kiss, as different 
as possible from that first kiss which had 
touched her brow. As before, the shock of 
the experience rendered her for a time 
unconscious ; and when she awoke she was 
ready to persuade herself that she had 

by Google 

dreamed." Nothing more happened ; and 
towards the end of January her mind became 
much occupied by some private theatricals 
which the Bensons were getting up, and in 
which she was, much to her surprise, invited 
to play a leading part. 

One night she had just come in from a 
rehearsal. It was about ten o'clock, and she 
was tired. But she had a letter to write, so, 
instead of going straight upstairs to bed, she 
turned into her sitting-room, lit the lamp, 
and began to loosen her furs at the throat 
and to take off her hat, when, with a leap of 
the nerves, she heard the sound of the latch- 
key below. Terror seized her. She had told 
Mrs. Moon that she need not wait up for her ; 
and now it crossed her mind that she had not 
fastened the door, since she meant to run out 
and post her letter before going to bed. 

In a fever of apprehension she heard the 
well-known sequence of sounds. But when 
the footfalls reached her door a new thing 
happened — a perfectly unprecedented thing. 
The intruder knocked. There was a long 
pause. If there had been any way out other 
than by that haunted door Rosalind would 
have fled ; as it was, she stood like one rooted 
to the floor, white as ashes, shaking, ready 
to faint, wholly unable to reply. After an 
interval there came another knock. With 
a feeling that she had tampered so long with 
the powers of darkness that one time more 
was a matter of small import, she faltered 
out— " Come in ! " 

Whereupon Leonard Verrall came in. 

When she saw him in bodily presence she 
opened her mouth to shriek. It is the unex- 
pected which is so profoundly alarming. 
When Rosalind said " Come in ! " she expected 
to hear the door open and to hear some 
invisible person enter. To most people this 
would be a far more alarming circumstance 
than to see a fellow-creature obey the homely 
summons. It is all a question of what you 

Her self-control gave way under the shock 
of surprise. " Oh, no, no ! I can't bear this ! 
Don't touch me ! Don't come near me ! " 
she threw out, almost inarticulate in her 
deadly fear. 

He did not approach ; he just stood by the 
door, with a triumphant smile which her 
remarkable type of welcome did not seem to 

" It's rather wonderful," he said, softly, 
" that you should not fear a ghost, but that 
you should fear — me ! " 

He let this sink in. She stood where she 
was, while the mortal terror gave way, fir§t 

Original from 


to relief t then to astonishment, then to a new lar to reassure her. Moreover, as he drew 

kind of fright, which brought the blood rush- near she saw how nervous he, too, was feeling, 

ing to her face. and that completed the business. 

" Then — then you are not a ghost ? " " Just tell me straight out — you are alive, 


41 No fear ! " 

li I — I still can't believe that you're 
real.' 1 

" If it wouldn't frighten you/* said Leonard , 
coaxingly, t( I'll soon convince you " 

il If you're coming/' cried Rosalind , in a 
hurry, u come very slowly, 1 ' 

" You do set a fellow difficult things to 
do ! +h replied Leonard, as he ad van red with 

His method of expressing himself went 

are you not ? If you are dead, I don*t think 
I can bear it," she quavered. 

" Oh, Rosalind — then vou want me to be 
alive ? " 

" More than I have ever wanted anything, 
I believe/' 

" Then we ran soon settle about the 
reality/' replied Leonard, joyously. (£t The 
shadow and she are one/ " he quoted, 
triumphantly, as his strong, warm hands 
clasped hers. 

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Original from 

A C 


of Animal 

Compiled for tkc first time. 

OW vague are the notions of 
the number of animals, other 
than man, who may be said 
to acknowledge the rule of 
the King's Government t Of 
the ferce natures no pef9cnrtnay 
speak with authority. Only the 
wildest guess could be made as to the number 
of foxes, badgers, hares, rabbits, squirrels, 
rats, and mice. But, on the other hand, 
why need anybody be indefinite regarding 
the flocks and herds, the inmates of stable 
and kennel, even the " harmless, necessary " 
denizen of kitchen and area ? For, in spite 
of the fact that materials for a fairly accurate 
enumeration exist, we constantly find the 
most absurd estimates cited by writers and 
speakers who, by taking a little pains and 
devoting a few weeks of inquiry- in the 
Government Departments, studying agri- 
cultural and other statistical tables, and con- 
sulting zoologists and animal and poultry 
breeders and fanciers, might arrive at — well, 
shall we say, an approximately accurate 
knowledge of a highly interesting subject ? 

But the trouble is worth taking, and the 
writer has much pleasure in submitting to 
the Government, in this year of the human 
census, a provisional animal census, which 
may well pave the way for one undertaken 
under official auspices. To begin with, a com- 
parative table has been compiled showing the 
animal population of the United Kingdom 
at three different periods, beginning with 

1811 :— 




Pigs ... 




Dogs ... 




Goats . . . 




Deer ... 




Sheep ... 




Horses ... 




Cats ... 




Donkeys . 








Cattle ... 




In studying the foregoing conspectus the 
reader must, of course, bear in mind the vast 
changes in the human population of these 
isles. Thus in 181 1 the total human popula- 
tion was under 20,000,000. In 191 1 it is 
over 45,000,000. But the animals, for reasons 
which hardly need explaining, have not 

always kept pace with their masters, and in 
the case of deer their numbers have dropped 
to but little more than a third. Then, 
although there are more pigs and donkeys 
and goats than there were a century ago, 
there are fewer than there were in 1865. The 
most remarkable increase has been in dogs, 
who have more than quadrupled their numbers, 
owing to the increase of the urban population ; 
and next to these, cats. The vital statistics 
of pigs have been affected by the growth of the 
American pork industry and the rural depopu- 
lation in Ireland and the kingdom generally. 
Thus in 1865 there were, roughly, 4,000,000 
pigs; in 1867, 4,221,100; and in 1869, 
3,028,394. The diminution continued until 
1890, when a rally took place, and British 
pigs are now recovering their lost ground. 
But the depopulation of the sties is a matter 
of national concern, and there should be at 
least twice the number of porkers now 
flourishing amongst us. Cows and oxen 
showed a decrease after 1865, and for nearly 
twenty years their number was stationary. 
As regards horses, in 181 1 the horse tax 
seems to have been very general, the total 
number taxed being 1,187,579. In 1823 the 
tax was halved, and agricultural horses were 
exempted. In 1910 the returns of horses 
used for agricultural purposes only give 
1,136,841, or, together with unbroken horses, 
a total of 1,547,287, a decrease of 7,706 as 
compared with the figures for 1909. Moreover, 
nearly a million cab-horses, and those used for 
purposes of traction, besides Army horses, are 
to be added to the total, which continues to 
show a slight decrease over the previous 
year's figures. This decrease is bound to 
continue, and in two or three years, at the 
close of the life of the horses formerly used 
for traction in towns, the figures are bound 
to take a big downward jump. 

Indeed, the horse is always being threatened 
with extinction nowadays, but, as Lord 
Haldane has recently pointed out, if the horse 
is to become extinct in these islands the pro- 
cess will be a slow one. People who dwell 
in towns and have the visible reduction of 
horse-drawn omnibuses and cabs constantly 
before them are apt to exaggerate the dwind- 
ling process ; but it is real, nevertheless, and 
the time will doubtless come when the horse, 
for purposes of traction in urban communities. 

by Google 










22 J 46,532, 

In I his and the following diagrams the number of animals in the three countries is shown 
by the respective sizes of the figures. 

will practically have ceased to cut any promi- 
nent figure in the world. 

The figures relating to dogs are, first of all, 
based upon the dog tax. In i8n the tax on 
hounds and sporting dogs generally was 
us, 6d., that on other dogs being os t per 
annum* A pack of hounds {where com- 
pounded) paid £30. From 1823 to 1856 the 
tax was 12s. for any dog, and £9 for a pack 
of hounds. When the tax was reduced to 
7 s. 6d> a great increase of the canine popu- 
lation resulted. 

But by far the most interesting figures 
concerning the enumeration of animals are 
those which present the numbers contained 
in the United Kingdom t France, and Germany. 
Here we observe extraordinary national dis- 
crepancies. We will begin with the pig, that 
much- maligned animal who bears such a 
singular physiological likeness to man. 

In the United Kingdom there are at this 
moment , roughly speaking, three and a half 
million pigs, as against double that number 
in France, and nearly seven times the number 
in Germany. The reason for this discrepancy 
is not far to seek, because we in this country 
are dependent for our supply of pork chiefly 
upon the American product, although sup- 
plies from other countries are constantly 
arriving, It used 
to be the case that 
in the Sister Isle 
no small family was 
without " the gin- 
tleman who pays 
the rint." But the 
human population 
of Ireland is natur- 
ally responsible for 
the diminution of 
the porcine popu- 
lation of that coun- 
try, it is found in 

England that pig- 
keeping on a large 
scale does not pay. 
There are 157.627 
pigs in Suffolk, 
which is ? therefore, 
far and away the 
most "piggy" 
county in England. 
In London there 
are only 1,948 pigs 
(excluding those 
bipeds to whom the 
epithet is in mo- 
ments of irritation 

In respect of dogs, last year more than 
1,900.000 paid licence, but if to this total we 
add exemptions carefully compiled by the 
authorities, we arrive at a total of about 
4.000.000 for the canine population ol the 
kingdom. France has many fewer than this in 
numbers, and Germany is far behind 7 there 
being, according to the latest statistics, just 
over i t ooo,ooo dogs in the empire. 

Perhaps the most astonishing misconcep- 
tion relates to deer. Whitaker's " Deer 
Parks" gives 77,000 deer for England, but, 
as Mr, J. G. Millais (perhaps the foremost 
authority on the subject) writes us: "There 
are twice that number now in England alone. 
The number in Scotland I roughly estimate 
as 6 t ooo stags killed annually, and only one 
stag in ten is shot ; that gives 6o t ooo stags 
alone, and there are at least ten times that 
number of hinds in Scotland; therefore, 
roughly , 

England „,...., 154,000 Gcer. 

Scotland ...... 660,000 ,, 

Ireland 2,500 „ 

816,500 deer, 

" I should say there are nearly 1 ,000,000 
deer wild and in parks in the British islands, 

il I have myself/' Mr. Millais continues, 
" seen 3,000 deer in one open valley (Strath- 






! 100,000. 


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Original from 









550 P 0G0. 


UNiTKi) KiNf:Tm>r. 

vaich) at one time — that is to say, driving 
in a road through the valley occupying half 
an hour. I have seen a herd of 400 wild stags 
all together at the Forest of the Blank Mount 
in 1887." 

These interesting facts further indicate the 
numerical preponderance of the British Isles 
as regards deer, which, compared with the 
lower estimates of other authorities, may be 
reasonably placed 
at 700.000. 

The popularity 
of goats in France 
and Germany is 
largely accounted 
for by the enor- 
mous consumption 
of goats* milk. At 
one time there was 
a far larger num- 
ber of goats in the 
United Kingdom, 
but these have 
gradually dwindled 

down to little more than half a million. A 
member of the Goat Society thinks they could 
not possibly exceed 6oo,ood. 

Sheep, on the other hand, arc far more 
numerous in the United Kingdom, as was 
to be expected, than in either France or 
Germany, With the decrease of arable land, 

many thousands of acres have been turned 
into pasture. 

In the same way, Germany being a more 
agricultural country, the progress of loco- 
motion not being so great in towns as with us, 
it might naturally be expected to be in excess 
of horses, and this is shown by the figures, 
the last estimate of the equine population of 
the Fatherland being 5,500,000, as against 








4,600,000 in France and 3400,000 in the 
United Kingdom, 

One is apt at first sight to marvel at the 
figures relating to cats in Germany as com- 
pared with the United Kingdom. The wonder 
is a little abated when we have the statement 
of an eminent authority that the reason why 





17 p 456,m 





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Original from 




n rX 


4 T 600,000, 



England is a feline paradise is wholly owing 
to ill-regulated household economics and the 
national profusion in waste. ^ In France 
and Germany every morsel in the larder is 
accounted for ; nothing is thrown away that 
affords nutriment. In England, on the other 
hand, the daily kitchen refuse is sufficient to 
feed a population half as large again. This 

by a deputy anxious to impose a heavy iax 
on grimalkin* These figures, however , have 
been shown to be excessive. The British 
Consul-General in Berlin writes ; M I am 
assured by competent authorities that the 
figure of one cat to twenty households would 
probably err on the excess side — this including 
the rural provinces of the south, where the 

(.rNlTKD KlNfiliOM. 



7 1 MO i O0a 



explains the enormous cat and dog popula- 
tion-" Another hypo thesis — more ingenious 
than sound , perhaps — bases itself on the 
million more spinsters in this country than 
in Germany, as if a law, " one spinster, one 
cat," actually t.:\is1<-d. At all events, the 
German Chancellor has been furnished with 
figures showing 640,000 cats in the empire 

animal is much more common than in Prussia. 
As regards Berlin , I may say from personal 
observation that a cat is very rarely seen, 
either in the streets or in houses/ 1 

Donkeys thrive better in Spain, perhaps, 
than in any country in Europe, but there is 
no reason why they should not flourish to a 
much larger extent in northern lands, For- 








by Google 


Original from 



merly they did so in the British Isles, but 
their numbers have now fallen to 85,000, 
whereas in France there are 363,000, or more 
than four times as many. In Germany the 
donkey population is only 19,642. They have 

the past fifteen years, and there are signs that 
the increase will be more than maintained. 

To pass from a .small biped to a large 
quadruped, we may note that there are twice 
as many cows and oxen in Germany as in 


Ik AM i:. 






77 J 03,000, 


there no Donkey Society as in Britain, of 
which the Earl of Lonsdale is president. 

We now come to poultry* Here undeni- 
ably France leads, with Germany a distant 
second. The problem of poultry raising has 

the United Kingdom, and over six millions 
more than in France. 

On the whole our figures lead to most 
interesting conclusions. Whatever we may 
say about the human element in the three 









been better solved by our neighbours than 
with us, although, according to the editor of 
the Poultry World, great strides have recently 
been made in the United Kingdom, The 
last official figures were 28,944,249, but this 
has now risen to upwards of 40,000,000 within 

leading countries in Europe, the represen- 
tatives of the most familiar four-footed 
creatures who came out of the ark show no 
signs of degeneration or decay. The fact is 
that even their present numbers in these 
three countries exceed those of man. 

[The writer 6e$s ta express his acknowledgments to the Statistical SeerttaruM to the Beard of Agriculture 
and the Board of Trade ; to Dr, Chapters Mite heft, Secretary of (he Zooiogieai Society ; Mr. H. Boyle, 
British Consui-Generai at Berlin t Mr, J. &. MiUah* a /id others wha haze caurteousty assisted hi*n in the 
pteparalian of this article,] 

Vol xiiL— II. 

by Google 

Original from 

1 he Perfidy of 

Henry Midgley. 


Illustrated by W. R. S. Stott. 

glanced a little apprehen- 
sively over the top of the 
letter which he was reading 
towards his wife. Mrs. Midg- 
ley, however, was busy 
boiling eggs. She went on 
talking with her eyes rigidly fixed upon the 
minute-glass and a spoon clutched deter- 
minedly in her hand. 

" If it's a matter of a hundred pounds or 
so/' she declared — " why, what I should say 
is, take no notice of it at all. Put it into the 
Post Office Savings Bank, and let it be for 
a rainy day. If it's more — well, there's heaps 
of ways of having a good time, and the sooner 
we know about it the better. You'd better 
trot along and see those people, Henry, in 
your dinner-hour." 

Mr. Midgley was slight and sandy, with a 
fair moustache and a mass of obstreperous 
hair. At present the repose of his features 
was somewhat marred by an expression of 
nervous anxiety. He looked first at the 
letter which he was holding and then at his 
wife. More than once he seemed on the 
point of saying something, but at the last 
moment changed his mind. He was evidently 
in a state of indecision. Mrs. Midgley, how- 
ever, had just then only two objects in life — 
to see that those eggs were perfectly boiled 
and to start her husband off by the eight- 
forty train to the City with a satisfied inner 
man and a well-brushed exterior. 

" Suppose it was more, now," Mr. Midgley 
began at last. " Just for the sake of argu- 
ment, say it was enough to launch out a 
bit, eh — for me to join the golf club and for 
you to go up to town for a matinte now and 
then. How docs that strike you, Rose ? 
What do you want to do about it, eh ? '' 

Mrs. Midgley, with a sigh of relief, pounced 
upon the two eggs and set them up in their 
cups. She placed both before her husband 

and glanced at the clock. Then she poured 
out the tea. 

" First of all," she declared, " I should buy 
the Fernery." 

Mr. Midgley's face fell. It was clear that 
the acquisition of the Fernery, which was an 
ugly red-brick structure with a stucco front 
at the corner of the street, did not appeal to 
him at all. He thought of the broken-down 
arbour in a corner of the untidy garden, 
the decapitated statue, and the stone bay- 
window, with a little shiver. 

" Buy the Fernery ! " he repeated, a little 
despondently. " It isn't a pretty house, 

" It has an appearance," Mrs. Midgley 
declared. " Besides, it's to be bought cheap." 

" You wouldn't care about leaving this 
neighbourhood, then?" Mr. Midgley ventured. 

" Certainly not," his wife replied. " I like 
it, and because one gets on a bit in the world 
I see no reason for shaking off one's old friends 
and trying to buy new ones. Besides, an 
earthquake wouldn't move mother ; and, so 
long as she's here, I hope I know my duty 
too well to think of moving. Keep one eye 
on the clock, Henry." 

Mr. Midgley, who had often wished that an 
earthquake or some less violent eruption of 
Nature would remove his mother-in-law from 
the next house but one in the row, scratched 
his chin thoughtfully. 

" Very well, then," he said. " We'll take 
it that you'd like to buy the Fernery to start 
with. What else ? " 

" I should insist upon it," she declared, 
firmly, " that you never left home in the 
morning with a nasty pipe in your mouth. 
I like to see a gentleman smoking a cigar." 

Mr. Midgley, who loved his briar and 
hated all manner of cigars, groaned under 
his breath 

" Go on," he begged. " Go on, Rose." 

Mrs. Midgley continued promptly. 




" I should take two front sittings in St. 
Paul's Church/' she announced ; " and, as 
you probably wouldn't have to work so hard 
in the week, there would be no excuse for 
your not occupying them with me twice a day 
on Sundays." 

Mr. Midgley wiped his forehead. His tone 
seemed to become fainter. 

" Go on/' he murmured. " Please go on, 

Mrs. Midgley began to warm to the subject. 
She was a pretty little woman, but she had an 
exceedingly determined mouth. 

" I should have a parlour-maid with strings 
to her cap, and late dinners," she declared. 
" Also I should be ' at home ' one afternoon 
a week and give tea with two sorts of cake. 
You would have to come home early from the 
office and hand things round." 

" It might be inconvenient," Mr. Midgley 
protested, weakly. 

" You would have to make it convenient," 
his wife insisted. " No good starting on that 
piece of toast, Henry. You have to leave in 
three minutes, and I must brush you first." 
Mr. Midgley gulped down his tea hurriedly. 
" While we're on this subject," he remarked, 
in a tone which had sunk almost to a whisper, 
" is there anything else you'd be particular 
about ? " 

" A good many more," Mrs. Midgley 
replied. " But I can't think of them all on 
the spur of the moment. Besides, I never 
did hold with this fancying business. There's 
just this little matter, however, I should make 
a point of. With good claret like they have 
at the grocers' at the corner of the street at 
a shilling and three - ha'pence a bottle I'd 
take care that there wasn't a drop of beer 
in the house. I can't bear the sight or smell 
of the stuff — reminds me always of public- 
houses and the weakness of poor pa who's 

Mr. Midgley waited for his opportunity, 
thrust the letter which he had been reading 
into his pocket, and buttoned up his coat. 
This had been the last straw. He was a 
temperate man, but he liked his glass of beer 
and he loathed claret. 

" Well, well," he said, as he stood up in 
the passage and submitted himself to vigorous 
flagellations with the clothes-brush, " it's a 
pity things ain't likely to turn out our way. 
A hundred pounds, with ten of it for a mourn- 
ing-ring, is about my guess." 

" And a very nice sum, too, let me tell you, 
Mr. Midgley," his wife declared, standing back 
for a moment and surveying her handiwork. 
" Not a penny of it do we spend, mind. 

Gracious goodness, give me your hat. You 
don't mean to tell me that you were going 
out like that ? Why, there's a perfect rim of 
dust round it. Where you get it all from I 
can't imagine. There, now, put it on straight. 
Never mind lighting your pipe ; you've only 
four and a half minutes for the train. Bring 
home the bacon and the tea for mother, and be 
sure that you go to the lawyers in the dinner- 
hour, and don't say a word about any legacy 
at the office. If they think you've come into 
money they may keep back your next rise. 
Hurry off, stupid — no time for nonsense." 

Mr. Midgley started for the City without 
his pipe or a farewell kiss from his wife. That 
is to say, he started as though he were going 
to the City, but as soon as he had turned the 
corner of the street he apparently changed 
his mind. From that moment his subse- 
quent proceedings Jbecame more or less 
mysterious. He first of all entered a tobac- 
conist's shop, where he purchased an expensive 
pipe and two ounces of tobacco. On emerging 
once more into the street, he lingered upon the 
pavement for a moment, glancing up and down 
with a casual expression which was distinctly 
overdone. Satisfied at last that there was 
no one in sight whom he knew, he summoned 
a four-wheeled cab from the other side of the 
road, and threw himself into a corner of the 
vehicle with a lordly air. 

" Station, sir ? " the man inquired. 

" Drive me to the golf club," Mr. Midgley 

The man, who knew him by sight, stared. 

" To the golf club," Mr. Midgley repeated, 
sharply. " I'm not going to the City this 

Arrived at his destination, Mr. Midgley 
sought out the professional. 

" I am going to join the golf club here," 
he announced. " I have a spare morning, 
and I should like a lesson." 

The professional, who found the week-day 
mornings dull, accepted the suggestion with 

" Have you any clubs, sir ? " he asked. 

" Not at present," Mr. Midgley admitted. 
" I waited to buy them from you. Make me 
up a bagful. The best, mind. I like the 
look of the shiny ones there. See that I have 
plenty of them." 

" How many balls, sir ? " 

" I shall want a great many balls," Mr. 
Midgley replied, firmly. " Several boxes 
full, at least. Where can wc go for our 
lesson ? " 

For more than two hours, with his well- 
brushed silk hat reposing on the turf a few 

8 4 


feet away, Mr, Midgley suffered the alternate 
joys and pangs of the novice. At the end of 
that time, streaming with perspiration and 
stiff in every joint, he settled his account with 
the professional, fee'd him handsomely^ and 
retired to the club-house. Regardless of 
the fact that his membership was as yet 
incomplete, he ordered and consumed with 
much enjoyment a large-sized bottle of the 
beverage against which his wife had just 

office-boy to the head clerk they all stared at 
him speechless. The principal of the firm, 
who happened to be passing through the 
office, surveyed him with strong disapproval, 

11 Is this your first appearance this morning, 
may I ask ? ri he inquired, 

Mr- Midgley nodded amiably, and glanced 
at the clock, 

"lama bit late, aren't I ? " he remarked, 
in friendly fashion. 


issued her dictum* Afterwards he telephoned 
for a cab, stretched himself out upon the 
cushions with a pipe in his mouth, caught 
the eleven-thirty-eight train to town, and 
strolled into the office, where he was due at 
five minutes past nine, at precisely a quarter 
past twelve. 

The manner of his entrance upon the scene 
of his neglected labours was by no means 
apologetic. It w r as, in fact, almost jaunty, 
The newly-purchased pipe was still in his 
mouth , his shoes were caked with mud, his 
collar had broken down with the warmth of 
the exercise , and his ready-made tie was on 
its way to the back of his ear. From the 

if Have you any excuse to offer ? n his 
employer demanded, 

Mr. Midgley shook his head. 

" Can't think of one," he admitted, " The 
fact is, it was such a fine morning that I 
stopped to have a golf lesson," 

Mr. Welby, the head of the firm, was a fat 
man, with red cheeks and beady eyes. Some- 
how the fact of these physical deficiencies had 
never seemed more apparent than at the 
present moment. The longer he gazed at his 
clerk the fatter and redder he seemed to be- 
come* He was positively bristling with rage. 

u Are you drunk. Mr, Midgley ? " he de- 
mande^jiV^^Yl^^RpH^^ to business 



over three hours late and talk about golf 
lessons ? Have you taken leave of your 
senses, may I ask, sir ? " 

"The fact is," Mr. Midgley explained, 
genially, " I've only come to get my office 
coat, I've decided to leave. It's a rotten 
sort of shop, this, anyway. Hours too long 
and screw too short. I'm fed up with it. 
Hand over my coat, there's a good fellow, 

Mr. Welby was threatened with apoplexy. 
Mr. Midgley listened to his flow of language 
with an interest which speedily merged intb 
something like admiration. He backed slowly 
out and stood with the open door in his hand 
for the last few seconds. 

"Steady, sir, steady!" he interposed; at 
last. " Don't overdo it, Mr. Welby, sir. It's 
as good as anything I ever listened to of its 
sort, but go steady, sir, or you'll do yourself 
an injury. Is that all ? " 

Mr. Midgley dodged a letter-book and 
thrust his head through the door again a 
moment later. 

" About that trifle of salary you were 
speaking of depriving me of, sir," he said ; 
" put it in your own pocket and stand your- 
self a drink from me. I'm feeling a bit inde- 
pendent this morning about the ha'pence. I 
dare say it's the spring coming on. Ta-ta, 
Welby ! So long, you fellows ! " 

Hot, but triumphant, Mr. Midgley stepped 
into the street with his office coat oh his arm. 
Every now and then, as he made his leisurely 
progress towards a restaurant which up till . 
to-day had been only a name to him, he 
stopped to chuckle. Then a sudden thought 
sent a cold shiver through him. He snatched 
out the letter from his pocket and hurried to 
the address of the lawyers from whom it had 
come. His reception there should have itself 
been sufficient reassurance. He put it into 
plain words, however. 

" There's no possibility of any mistake 
about this letter of yours ? " he demanded. 
The lawyer shook his head. 
" None whatever." 

" It is an absolute fact, then," Mr. Midgley 
persisted, " that I, Henry Midgley, of St. 
Clement Villas, Golder's Green, am entitled 
by the will of the late Charles Midgley, of 
Huddersfield, to the sum of thirty-five thou- 
sand pounds ? " 

" Quite correct," the lawyer agreed. " If 
you are still feeling any doubt about it we 
shall be glad to advance you any reasonable 
sum you may require. Your banking account 
will be in order for you to-morrow." 
Mr. Midgley accepted fifty pounds and went 

on his way to the restaurant for which he had 
been bound when assailed by that sudden 
wave of doubt. Undeterred by its splen- 
dours, he ordered a hearty lunch, his enjpy- 
ment of which was greatly enhanced by, the 
near presence of his late employer, whose 
stony stare he met with a genial nod and an 
upraised glass. Mr. Welby changed his 
seat, breathing heavily. 

" Surly old gentleman," Mr. Midgley 
declared, pleasantly, to the head waiter, 
with whom he was talking. " I sha'n't ask 
him to play me a game of billiards afterwards." 

In due course he finished his lunch, paid 
his bill, and went out. He drank coffee at a 
Mecca close at hand, played dominoes, and 
afterwards billiards, with a lordly disregard 
of time. He caught the proper train home, 
however, and sat down to his evening meal 
at the appointed hour. 

" Fifty pounds, I guess, and half of it to 
go for a mourning-ring," Mrs. Midgley 
declared, as she bustled in with the sardines 
and cold mutton. " I hate those mourning- 
rings, anyway." 

" Wrong," Mr. Midgley declared, cheerfully. 
" It's a hundred." 

Mrs. Midgley looked intently into the tea- 
pot. Her husband looked at her and sighed. 
In her way she was distinctly pretty, but her 
devotion to her household duties was almost 
ah obsession. Mr. Midgley sometimes wished 
she "would remember that he too was one of 
them. It was a regrettable fact that she 
devoted much more pains towards keeping 
his house spotless and himself well-clothed 
and fed than to anything else in life. 

" One hundred pounds is a real nest-egg," 
she declared, swaying the teapot to and fro. 
" You'll remember what I decided, Henry. 
It's to be the Post Office Savings Bank, mind." 

Midgley sighed and told a falsehood. He 
was beginning to find this sort of thing quite 

" It's there already, my dear," he 

Henceforth Mr. Midgley embarked upon a 
course of deceit, in the meshes of which he 
became more completely involved day by 
day. He left home always at the usual time, 
but never, alas, for the City. The mornings 
he spent at the golf club, to the great enrich- 
ment of the fortunate professional there, who 
was speedily coming to regard this eccentric 
visitor as his chief source of income. In a 
suit of clothes sent by stealth from the estab- 
lishment of a sportinp tailor direct to the 

golf Hfo&- "Ureter" 86 " *"• 




every morning, pursued his new avocation 
with relentless and amazing industry. At 
midday he travelled first-class to London 
and lunched at a popular restaurant, generally 
standing treat to one of his late fellow-clerks 
or acquaintances. Every evening he returned 
by his usual train to his usual meah And 
every evening he felt the same twinges of 
conscience as he entered his neat little home 
and received the methodical and conscien- 
tious caress of his managing little wife. He 
dared not bring her presents for fear of being 
rebuked for extravagance, and their visits to 
the theatre were laid down by law as enter- 
prises to be taken three times in the year only. 
With a sort of morbid desire for relief at any 
price, he led her on to talk of the Fernery, 
the greenhouse she would have built from the 
drawing-room, her scheme of linoleum for 

the hall. He probed her base worship of a 
mirror-tainted suite of plush-covered furniture 
i n a ne igh bou r i ng e m po r i u m . H e enc ou r a ged 
her to dilate upon gentility with special 
reference to silk hats in the day-time, visits 
from the vicar's wife, regular attendance at 
church, and the supreme advantages of red 
wme over all malt liquors. After such times 
he felt stronger- 

Nevertheless, Nemesis was inevitable, and 
Nemesis came, Mrs, Midgley's cousin, who 
was on the stage— quite respectably — and 
engaged to a clerk in a wholesale drapery 
firm, made a special visit to Golder's Green, 
and brought with her the full account of Mr, 
Midgley's misdeeds, .so far as regards the City 
part of them, at any rate. It being the 
morning sacred to the offices of the local 



into the country to indulge in their confiden- 
tial talk. And their way lay across the 
Fore ! " cried Mr, Midgley, who^with only 
two strokes a hole, was one up on the pro- 
fessional and wanted to approach the green. 
The two ladies never moved. Miss Ellen 
Darcy — which was the stage name of the 
cousin — was gripping Mrs. Midgley by the 

, fc4 What he's doing, my dear, is plain 

enough," she exclaimed, with vigour. " He 

never banked that hundred pounds, not he ! 

He's having the time of his life, that's what 

he's having ! Half-crown tips to porters and 

warehousemen j free lunches and wine to 

all his friends ; and travelling first-class, if 

you please, just as bold as anything ! Why, 

it make's one's blood boil I And you mean 

to tell me, my dear, that he hasn't given you 

so much as a pair of gloves ? " 

11 Fore ! " cried Mr. Midgley 3 who was getting 

(t He's been home to supper at the usual 

in the afternoons, my dear/' Miss Darcy 
reminded her cousin. " Be sides , he wants to 
keep it all dark until the money's gone, so 
that he can have his fling properly. What 
on earth does that funny little man 
want ? ,J 

Mr. Midgley, who stood now upon the edge 
of the green, was brandishing his putter and 
shaking with virtuous indignation, 

41 Get out of the way, there!" he cried. 
u Can't you see you're stopping my ball ? 
How dare — — Rose ! " 

Mr, Midgley, notwithstanding the disguise 
of his tweed knickerbocker suit, was dis- 
covered. He broke off in the middle of his 
sentence ; but, unfortunately for the dignity 
of his appearance, he forgot to close his 
mouth. His wife, who, save once or twice 
on Bank Holidays, had never seen him except 
in a black coat and silk hat, looked him up 
and down in an amazement which was at 
first pitiful. Then she took one step towards 

** Mind my ball ! T ' he cried, weakly. 



time every evening," Mrs. Midgley declared, 
with a little catch in her voice. " Not once 
has he even missed the train ! " 
\" There's plenty of mischief to be got into 

Mrs* Midgley, who, for reasons of economy, 
wore thick boots, kicked his ball, and kicked 
it more fairly in the middle than her discon- 

^ita^fTOitof 1 his driver - 



She gathered up her skirts and turned her 
back upon him. 

" You and your ball ! " she cried, furiously. 
" You and your ball, indeed ! " 

The two ladies, with their heads in the air, 
walked off together* Mr, Midgley, who was 
something of a philosopher, discussed the 
fate of the hole with the professional, yielded 
it to him with a sigh, and finished his round. 
Afterwards he went manfully to St. Clement 
Villas, and found the house locked up. 

" Gone away with all her luggage," the 
next-door neighbour declared, with gusto. 
" Such a to-do as never was, sending for 
cabs and that, and a man to help with the 
boxes. Went off with a young lady, too, who 
might be all she should be, but didn't look 
it. . Such goings on ! Come and sit down a 
bit, Mr. Midgley, and have a chat." 

Mr. Midgley went instead to the station, 
and saw the back of the train. He then 
solaced himself with half a pint of beer and 
filled his pipe while he waited for the next. 

" I'll have to take on the Fernery and the 
red wine," he admitted to himself, cheerlessly. 
" Never mind. It's been all right this last 
month, and it's the little woman's turn, 

Mrs. Midgley was a young woman of re- 
sources and determination, and, having made 
up her mind to disappear, she did so most 
completely and effectually. Mr. Midgley 
visited one after another of her relations 
without the slightest result, except the provo- 
cation of a stream of curious questions. Last 
of all, he tackled Miss Darcy. 

" Now, it's no use your telling me you don't 
know where Rosfe is, because you do," he 
declared, having finally cornered her. 

" Of course I know," she admitted ; " but 
wild horses will never drag her address from 
me, you deceitful, faithless spendthrift. Why, 
to look at you makes me boil. You and your 
smart clothes, indeed ! Have you paid for 
them yet ? " 

Mr. Midgley took no offence. He was far 
too much in earnest. 

" I've paid for them all right, and I'll pay 
for a diamond ring for you if you'll tell me 
where to find Rose," he declared. 

Miss Darcy laughed scornfully. 

" Diamond ring, indeed ! " she exclaimed. 
" Haven't you come to the end of that hun- 
dred pounds yet ? " 

" It was more than a hundred pounds," 
Mr. Midgley said, firmly. " It was a great 
deal more." 

" The greater pig you, then," Miss Darcy 

declared. " Although, mind you, I don't 
believe a word of it. Now be off with you. 
If you follow me about I'll speak to the police 
straight away." 

" But I want my wife," Mr. Midgley pro- 

" Find her, then," Miss Darcy retorted. 
" You don't deserve a wife. Makes a respect- 
able girl feel like a Sqffragette to think of such 
as you ! " 

Mr. Midgley did his best. He bought the 
Fernery, installed his mother-in-law there in 
splendour which seemed to her positively 
regal, ordered in two dozen of claret, and 
began to smoke cigars. Then he took a suite 
of rooms in Duke Street, replenished his 
wardrobe, and plunged into life. Being 
handicapped, however, by a weak stomach, 
an indifferent digestion, and an unquenchable 
fidelity to his wife, he found the process alike 
painful and unsatisfying. At the end of a 
month he was sick of it. He sought out Miss 
Darcy again, but this time he was wise. He 
took the ring with him. Miss Darcy was 
swept off her feet. 

" Well, I never did ! " she gasped, turning 
it over in her hand. " So you're really rich, 
are you, Mr. Midgley ? " 

" I've got thirty-five thousand pounds," 
Mr. Midgley declared, sadly ; " and it's no 
use to me without my wife." 

Miss Darcy relented. 

" Well, I will say you are one to persevere," 
she admitted. " I've got Rose a shop at the 
Hilarity with me. She's in the third row of 
the chorus. Her stage name is Miss Morris." 

Mr. Midgley, with evidence before him of 
the power of diamonds, paid another visit to 
the jewellers. Long before the curtain went 
up that evening he was in his place in the 
stalls, fidgeting restlessly about. When the 
first act did begin he was almost demented, 
because Rose was certainly not there. With 
the second scene, however, he felt a wave of 
relief. A mist was before his eyes. His 
heart pounded against his ribs. Rose was 
sitting upon an upturned milking-tub, wear- 
ing the abbreviated costume of a shepherdess 
in some presumably tropical country. He 
almost blushed when he realized what she 
must have been through before she had con- 
sented to don that costume. On the whole, 
he was bound to admit it was becoming. 

He never took his eyes off her until the 
curtain went down. Then he made his way 
boldly to the back and handed the little note 
which he had prepared to the box-keeper, 
together with a liberal offering. 

Miss Morris was requested to take supper 




with an unknown admirer. When the answer 
came hack in the affirmative he boiled with 
ra^e. The box-keeper stared at him as he 
strode out. He could not even console him- 
self with the hope that she might have recog- 
nized his handwriting, for he had carefully 
printed his few words of invitation. It was 
disgraceful of her ! Supper with an unknown 
admirer, indeed ! 

It was a wet night, and long before the last 
act was over Mr. Midgley was making a 
nuisance of himself, crushed up against the 
stage-door with an umbrella in his hand and a 
taxicab waiting, He received at least half- 
a-dozen snubs from young ladies who were 
perfect strangers to him, reverses which he 
bore with the utmost equanimity as soon as 
he discovered his mistake. When at last 
Rose came out, she was so heavily veiled that 
if she had not been wearing the jacket in 

which she had gone away he might almost 
have failed to recognize her. 

"Miss Morris?" he said, timidly, holding 
the umbrella over her with one hand and 
raising his hat with the other. 

She looked him in the face, and he quailed, 

"Are you my unknown admirer?" she 

11 I am," he admitted, humbly. 

11 If you'd been another day without letting 
me know about it," she declared, (i I'd 
never have spoken to you again. This your 
taxi ? " 

" Yes, dear;" 

She gave him her hand, and let him squeeze 
it as he handed her in. 

li Savoy!" he called out, boldly, and im- 
mediately pulled both windows up. 

u Do wait until I loosen my veil ! ts she 


V*l alii —12. 

by Google 

Original from 



J^wj a Photo, fa iuiig <* San* Tinlte. 

Gunsbo rough Villa* Cf>, Kerry, the house in which Horatio 
Herbert Kitchener was born on the 24.1b June, 1 850, 
Though of English parentage, he is an Irishman by 

birth and up- 

a* a c:aj>i l\ 

When fourteen, he left Ireland, spent some 
lime at a French school, and ihen joined 
the Royal Military Academy at Woolwich- 

IN 1878. 
At this lime, and for the four previous 
vears, he had been employed by the 
Palestine Explora- 
tion Fund* 


Major Kitchener, 
with his guides, at 
Korti, in 1885, just 
before the start 
across the desert in 
the effort to reach 
Khartoum in time In 
save Gordon. The 
fact that Kitchener 
was a .member of this 
Kelief Expedition is, 
perhaps, not so well 
remembered as ii 
should be, 

5 Google 

Lord Kitchener's military career has so eclipsed his earlier 
work that it is often forgotten that before going to Egypt he 
spent several years surveying Palestine and Cyprus, This 
interesting photograph, showing him in camp with some of the 
members of a survey part)', is reproduced by the courtesy of 
the Palestine Exploration Fund. One of the members of 
ttie party has recalled the cheerful way in which Kitchener 

used to rough it. 
" We none of us 
thought much about 
our toilets, and he 
least of all. Why, 
after a few months' 
travelling about in 
Palestine he looked 
more like a tramp 
than an officer of 
Her Majesty's Army. 
His clothes wouldn't 
have fetched a three- 
penny- bit at any * old 
cln* shop* in White- 
chapel.*' He was 
occupied in this 
interesting work in 
the East from J 874 
till [S8 2 . 




Colonel Kitchener ww appointed Sirdar, 
or Commander-in-Chief of the Egyptian 
Army, in 1S92, on the resignation of 
General GrenfelL 

The Battle of Omdurman, in which the Dervishes were 
completely routed and the Khalifa finally overthrown wa* 
fought on the 2nd Septeml>er, 1S9& The Der- 
vishes displayed indomitable courage, but were 
no match for a force armed with modern weapons- 

\H ■ 



On the successful termination of iheDongola Campaign, 
in 1S0A the first great move against the power of the 
Khalifa Ihe Sirdar was raised to the rank of Major- 
General Work on the Soudan Military Railway was now 
pushed forward with all possible speed in preparation fur 
the advance to Khartoum. ^^ ^^ 

Mahrnoud, one 
of the Dervish 
leaders, with his 
hands bound be- 
hind his hack, 
being led past the 
Sirdar and his staff, 
after the Battle of 
the Athara, in 
April, 1898. This 
decisive battle 
marked another 
^reat step forward 
Inwards the recla- 
mation of the Srw- 
dan from t h c 
i*s influence* 



Two days after the victory of Omdurman 
a memorial service was held among the ruins 
of Gordon's Palace, across the Nile at 
Khartoum. After nearly fourteen years, 
Gordon's death had been avenged at last. 
At the close of the service "there were those 
who said the cold Sirdar himself could hardly 
speak or see, as General Hunter and the rest 
stepped out, according to their rank, and shook 
his hand. What wonder? He b-d trodden 
tins road to Khartoum for fourteen years, 
and h*r^ngd-At| f^ftiS^ at k* 1 *" 


9 2 


Hi I '■*'- 






W ^B9 dft 

A : <* 


" f 

- 7 • 




Shortly after Omriurman, news reached Lord 
Kitchener of the presence up the river^ at Fa^hoda, 
of a small number of troops under the command 
of a French officer, Major Maichand, who claimed 
the territory in the name of his country. The 
Sirdar's tact in dealing with this delicate situation did 
much to avert the threatened international dispute. 





. 1 

^BL_ ■*? 


*C 1 

/* *£ 

i i[ 

fcik I* 


!_ii; H :*** 





1 1 ** 

1 « h 



i ** : # 


The Sirdar now returned to England, when honours 
and rewards were showered upon him* Me was 
raised to the 
Peerage, re- 
ceiving the 
thanks of both 
Houses of Par- 
liament, as well 
as a grant of 
£30,000. In the 
above illustra- 
tion he is seen 
in the Guildhall 
receiving a 
Sword of 
Honour from 
the Lord 


Jn addition to 
his other honours, 
two of the Univer- 
sities conferred on 
him the degree ol 
LLAh t and he is 
seen in the accom- 
panying photo- 
graph as ne ap- 
peared in his robes 
at Cambridge. 





With the excep- 
tion of the first 
few months, Lord 
Kitchener was in 
South Africa 
throughout the 
Boer War, first 

as Chief of the Staff to Lord Roberts, and after- 
wards as Commander-in-Chief. At its conclusion 
he was created a \ iscount and received a grant 
of ^50; 000. 


In February, 1901, Lord Kitchener met the 
Boer Generals at Middelhurjr, with a view to 
arranging peace terms, but the conference proved 
abortive. The figures in t'.e photo, below, reading 

from 1 eft t o 
right, are (back 
row) Col. Hen- 
derson, Van 
Velden, Major 
Watson, IT 
Eraser, Major 
IL De Jager ; 
(front row) 
De Wet, Ijouis 
Botha, Lord 
and Col. 

bv Maptu * r>. ungmal from 




Frwnti thxAu. b* ii. W. JiukuiU. 

In 1902 Lord Kitchener went to India as Com- 
mander-in-Chief, and remained till 1909, Soon after 
going out he met with one of the few serious acci- 
dents rrf his life- His horse, which he had brought 
from South Africa, and on which he is seen in the 
above photograph, took fright in the dark and 
brought its rider into collision with the side < if a small 
tunnel, with the result that Lord Kitchener sustained 
a broken Tep. 

A scene in India, showing Lord Kitchener standing 
beside a ti^er h a has shot. 


On hi* return from his tour of the Far East and 
Australia Lord Kitchener employed parr of his 
leisure in learning go]f + He is here seen playing 
his first game at North Berwick, under the tuition 
of George Sayers, brother of the well - known 
professional, Ben Savers. 



In September, 
1909 , Lord Kitchener 
was made a Field- 
Marshal* and last 
year was appointed 
a member of the 
Committee of Im- 
perial Defence. 
Early in the present 
year he paid a visit 
to British East 
Africa, where he en- 
joyed some big- game 
shooting, and also, 
if report speaks 
truly, became a land- 
owner* but returned 
to take command 
Coio nation festivities. 

j^Vfftfi a t'hoUi. by ifcuhMHflt Ltd. 

of the troops during the 



Broome Park, near Canter- 
bury, the beautiful Jacobean 
house recently purchased by 
Lord Kitchener, stands in a 
magnificently 'timbered park in 
one of the most beautiful corners 
of Kent. The estate is situated 
in one of the best social and 
sporting districts of the county, 
better known to some as the 
Ingoldsby country. 

1 1 frO Hfom a rhvto. bit Colli*. 


Gold in the Gutter, 


Illustrated ty A. Wallis Mills. 


HE last throb of the evening 
life of the Strand was well- 
nigh spent, A sudden and 
unexpected shower had swept 
the famous street almost clear 
of traffic, and had driven the 
last loiterers to shelter. An 
occasional taxkab swished over the wet road- 
way, the rain-water ran in the gutters, and, 
overhead, the sky was again becoming clear. 
Police-constable X stepped out from the 
protection of a friendly doorway and walked 
eastwards* He looked at a clock and reflected 
that the shower of rain had hastened, by at 
least a quarter of an hour, the nightly trans- 
formation from that pandemonium of crowded 
traffic, insistent cab-whistles, impatient 
motor-horns, and noisy motor-buses, which 
the exodus from the theatres causes, to the 
few brief hours of quiet which come while 
the thoroughfare is empty of traffic before 
the early morning market-carts and motor- 
trucks break in upon its short rest. From 
being an organizer and director of traffic, 
Police-constable X settled down into being a 
keen-eyed and methodical guardian of law 
and order. 

What an up-to-date journalist might call 
the psychology of the Strand was well known, 
in all its little details, to Constable X. He 
knew the street by day, by evening, and by 
night. And he prided himself on his know- 
ledge. Now, as night began, he knew what 
sort of people he might expect to meet. After 
reaching the corner of Wellington Street he 
turned westwards and began to meet them. 

They were quite ordinary figures of 
that early hour of the night, and Constable 
X turned back towards Wellington Street, 
stifling a yawn. But at the corner of the 
street he met with a surprise. 

At first there seemed nothing unusual 
about the woman who brushed past him. 
Her clothing was miserable, and she turned 


down towards Waterloo Bridge. 

Diqiliz&d by MtL 


of her dress was in rags, her hat was shapeless. 
her boots were a collection of patches and the 
sorriest protection to her feet. In all this, 
however. Constable X found nothing unusual. 
The poor creature's destination was the 
easiest thing in the world to guess, 

<£ The Embankment," he remarked to him- 
self without hesitation. He might have ven- 
tured a few yards farther and concluded " The 
river." Such was the abject misery of the 
woman's clothes. 

But something quite unusual suddenly 
arrested his attention. The woman was not 
walking as she should have walked. Her 
body was neither limp nor ill-shapen. Her 
step was elastic. She and her clothes did 
not fit, for the utter dejection and physical 
exhaustion which were usual in such a pilgrim 
of the night to London's Mecca of misery were 
quite absent. Instead of her feet dragging 
in her pitiable boots, her step was business- 
like, her walk easy and natural. 

*' Blow me," observed Constable X, "if 
her hair isn't neat and tidy ! " 

He was only at fault, however, for a 

" Going to do the Embankment for her 
paper, I guess," he surmised. *' A hundred 
to one there's a pencil and notebook in her 
pocket, * A Night on the Embankment, by 
One Who Has Been There.* Wonder that 
sort of thing hasn't got stale." 

She vanished down the steps, and Constable 
X turned and walked slowly westwards. 

" That Embankment/' he reflected, " is 
one of the regular sights of London." 

Scores of journalists have written about 
the Embankment as it is by night ; certain 
well-known plays have: placed a semblance 
of it behind the footlights, and dozens upon 
dozens of people have written letters to the 
papers, published and unpublished, dealing 
with a blot upon the civilization of the capital 
of a ChristiwiBinptfeoift may therefore be 




presumed that the reader knows what the 
Thames Embankment is like between the 
fall of night and the coming of the grey light 
of dawn ? without being told now any of the 
harrowing details which make up the picture 
of that Mecca to which turn, sooner or later, 
the weary footsteps of most of those men and 
women in London who reach the dregs of 

Besides , this is not an Embankment story. 
Its action takes place on 
the Embankment. But 
the man and woman who 
came unexpectedly that 
night to a crisis in their 
lives are not Embankment 
" characters," neither do 
they furnish u a story of 
the dregs." They were on 
the Embankment that 
June night ; they brushed 
shoulders with its misery. 
To all appearances they 
were part of it . But they 
were not. 

The woman whom Con- 
stable X had understood 
quite accurately went 
down the steps by Somer- 
set House , crossed the 
roadway, and sat down on 
the first seat she came to. 

She sat down and gazed 
in front of her* 

A passer-by would have 
summed her up in a 
glance. M Despair," he 
would have said - " the 
end of her resources ! 
Hunger, disappointment, 
failure, without a home 
and without hope ! No, 
not drink* She docs not 
look like that. But, 
perhaps, some form of 
crime ? About her only 
resource now — the river/' 

Such might have been 
the ready-made conclusions of a passer-by T 
perhaps supplemented by some reflections, 
equally ready - made, as to the contrast 
between the Knihankment and the Savoy 
and the Cecil, 

But such comments and reflections in the 
case of Margaret Wilmore were wide of the 
mark. That night she had dined at the 
Lyceum (tub, that day she had earned some 
five guineas from her paper, and instead of 
her future being the river, it would be, in 

Digitized byV_iO"" 


all likelihood , the very future which she had 
aspired to and built up to. There was only 
one way in which the ready-made comments 
of a possible passer-by would have touched 
the truth. The keen, intellectual face in 
such surroundings might have suggested 
crime. Well, Margaret Wilmore had been 
in prison. 

That June night, however, it seemed that 
she was out of tune with her work. She had 
come there for copy, 
M Interviews on the Em- 
bankment " was the title 
of the series of articles she 
was doing* They were to 
be quite the real thing — 
life - stories, just plain, 
unvarnished, literally true 

Well, she had the night 
before her. There was no 
need to hurry. The figure 
at the end of the seal 
would provide the first 
interview. She moved to- 
wards the man at the 
end of the seat, and be- 
came aware that he had 
been watching her steadily 
from beneath the brim of 
his battered felt hat. 

What is a coincidence ? 
Look at it as you will, 
the word is unsatisfactory. 
And people use it to cover 
too much. When a novel- 
ist's plot is improbable, 
and its crisis is helped out 
by a seemingly unlikely 
conjunction of events, the 
critic smiles and mur- 
murs, " The long arm of 
coincidence ! " Again, 
when in actual life truth 
has proved itself stranger 
than fiction in some 
unlooked-for way, those 
who look on and cannot explain brush 
the incident aside and label it '' a 
coincidence/' But, after all, what is a 
coincidence ? Is it mere chance when the 
murderer, fleeing from justice, happens to 
step on board that particular ship on which 
one of the stewards happens to have known 
him in the life which he is endeavouring to 
wipe off the slate, when perhaps in all the 
stores of other ships sailing from the count rv 
that dayi^ftjjrt^lsff^l^, person would have 



9 6 


known him ? When Margaret Wilmore 
recognized those steady eyes watching her 
from beneath the brim of that battered felt 
hat , was it merely a coincidence that that 
man happened to be her husband, and that 
both he and she were sitting on the same 
night and at the same time on the same 
Embankment seat ? 

Never afterwards did Margaret Wilmore 
forget that moment of recognition. Not only 
does she constantly remember it ; the snci- 

you know, than I was, if you will forgive my 
alluding to the past." 

She made a gesture as if to say that it did 
not matter, that it was as well to be quite 
frank and open* So he smiled again, and 
asked her permission to smoke, drawing out 
from his pocket a silver cigarette-case, 

" One of the relics, you see/' he observed, 
i£ saved out of the wreck." 

He meant to allude to his poverty, plain 
to anyone ; but it happened that it was one 


dent comes back to her memory, not as some- 
thing more or less dim, hut as something 
vivid and real and actual, even now. 

' You ! JT she exclaimed, shrinking back. 
(i You ! What are you doing here ? " 

Her husband smiled, and raised that wreck 
of a hat he was wearing. 

" It is a beautifully fine night/' he observed, 
" now that the shower is over* There are 
worse places for observing life than a seat on 
the Embankment. Let us put it at that* 
I am here for amusement." 

She smiled in her turn, observing him 
narrowly, his clothes, his boots, his hat, his 
face. She could think of nothing to say. 
And she disliked his steady gaze. They had 
not seen each other for more than three years. 
She shrugged her shoulders, 

" Why not ? " he asked, lightly and natur- 
ally* H You are here for business, I for 
pleasure ! You were always more serious, 

of her gifts to him, and thus to her seemed a 
relic of more than material prosperity. 

But she had received confirmation, if she 
needed it, that by some means or another 
this man, her husband and once her lover, 
had reached the gutter* 

ts How have you come to this ? " she asked, 

She was shocked, she told herself* More- 
over, his thin, aristocratic face, which she had 
once admired so greatly; his high, clever 
forehead, from which it seemed to her that 
his hair, never abundant, had receded since 
she last saw him ; and the crisp little curls 
on his temples, now, she noticed, a little 
grey — all recalled to her so vividly what had 
once been her estimate of the man she had 
been proud of, which had proved so false, 

After falling in love with him, marrying 
him, and idealizing him, she had then dis- 
covered her^JngtoWfrcOat was the past, 




the tragedy, Legal Separation. She did not 
know what to think now, when she was sud- 
denly confronted with him on a seat on the 

" Htfw do you suppose ? " he asked, in 
answer to her question. " What is the usual 
route to a seat on the Embankment at night 
for a man who started as I did ? " 

" I don't know. Perhaps you are going 
to blame me. Perhaps you have been specu- 
lating. Perhaps — well, perhaps a score of 
things ! " 

She shuddered as she thought of what some 
of those things might be. 

" Do you want the whole story, stage by 
stage ? " he asked. 

She remembered that he might misunder- 
stand her if she showed too much interest. 

" No, of course not," she replied, control- 
ling her voice. " Only it seems strange to 
find you here." 

She was quite satisfied that all colour of 
emotion was absent from her words, and she 
was emboldened to return his gaze steadily. 
After all, this descent of his justified her. 
She felt the superiority of her position to his. 

" Well, let us accept the simple explana- 
tion which you have suggested — speculation." 

He said nothing more, and for a few 
moments there was silence. 

"lam very sorry," she said, at last. " I 
remember you had something to do with the 
Stock Exchange in the past." 

" Don't sympathize." 

She looked at him curiously. His hand 
which held his cigarette was quite clean, his 
mouth a firm line beneath his closely-clipped 
moustache ; his attitude was natural and self- 
possessed, and very far from that of a denizen 
of the gutter. What ought she to do ? 

" It is curious our meeting like this," she 

" Yes ; very curious indeed." 

Then he seemed to realize that some effort 
at conversation was expected from him. 

" I need not ask what you have been doing," 
he said. " You have gone on with what you 
once said was your mission in life, to some 
purpose. Your portrait has been in the 
picture papers several times and you have 
been in prison twice. You have helped your 
4 Votes for Women ' cause pretty well, I 
should imagine. Come, tell me, do you think 
it is making good progress ? Different people 
tell me different stories. You ought to 

She answered defiantly. 

11 It is winning," she said. " A cause for 
which so much is sacrificed must win." « 

Vol *W,-13 

" I don't see the logical necessity. But 
it would be tedious to argue the matter 

" Yes. You hate the cause." 
• " Well, I think I have some reason to dis- 
like it. It took you from me, didn't it ? " 

" In some measure." She joined issue 
eagerly. " The truth was, however, not quite 
that," she urged. " You and I were mutually 
antipathetic. You did not understand me. 
The serious things of life were everything to 
me. You wanted to live on the surface. We 
couldn't go on like that. We did quite right 
to separate. My conscience is quite at rest. 
Besides, your being here proves it ! " 

" You mean, I would have dragged you 

down with me " He paused ; then added, 

with a movement of his hand to emphasize 
what he meant — " into the gutter." 

" Well, you have made a mess of life. 
Fortunately for me, I have gone my own way. 
But I am sorry you have not prospered. 
Perhaps you don't believe it, but I'm really 
sorry. Life isn't easy, is it ? It's a hard 
world to live in — even for women." 

There was a touch of malicious amusement 
in her words. There was also something more 
which Wilmore saw and understood quite 

" Margaret," he said, sharply, " do you 
really believe all this nonsense you are 
talking ? " 

She started at his tone of authority. 

" What nonsense ? " she demanded, weakly. 

" This about my being in the gutter." 

She gazed at him in astonished silence, and 
the terrible thought that he had fooled her 
grew upon her. She felt anger against him 
rising. But she was puzzled. 

" What about your alimony ? " he asked. 
" Where do you think it comes from, if I am 
beggared ? " 

" I thought that was — well, secured ; you 
could not touch it." 

" Yes, secured out of my estate. But if I 
have no estate, nothing but a few coppers to 
get my breakfast at a coffee-stall, perhaps 
not that, what then ? Really, Margaret, I 
should not have thought that, with your 
experience of the world, you would have 
accepted my appearance at its face value." 

His contemptuous amusement stung so 
that she almost got up to leave him there, as 
she had already left him out of her life. But 
not only did her curiosity chain her* but also 
her sense that he would command her to 
listen to him. 

He put his hand in his pocket and showed 
her ten to twenty pounds in gold. 


9 8 


" You see j Frn not a beggar, as you 

" I see I made a mistake," she admitted, 

A wave of her bitter resentment against 
him came and again clouded her thoughts. 

"If you make mistakes so easily your 
judgments cannot be very reliable," he 
observed* " But still, you can write up some 
sentimental rubbish about me if you like, 
though it wouldn't be true. You might call 
your first interview ' A Broken-down Gentle- 
man — Eton, the Carlton Club, moneylenders, 
the Embankment, the pity of it, the waste of 
first-class material ! ' You know how to do it, 

them, for all they know, I pick up with an 
old man here, with a boy there, with some 
wreck of a breadwinner, still in the prime of 
life so far as years go, at some other time. 
I hang on to them, keep 'em in sight for weeks. 
Then one day I help, if it seems worth while. 
It's quite simple, only so very few have the 
time and leisure that I have to do it. I've 
got these children of mine scattered about all 
over the world, I get letters from them at 
my club. And sometimes I look them up, 
It's not charity in the ordinary sense ; it*s a 
sort of occupation I have found myself," 

" I suppose you get your disappoint- 
ments ? " 

don't you ? It*s quite easy. Colour it up 
well, and it's sure to take.'' 

She sat silent, and silence fell between them. 
On his side there was the old contempt for 
her emotional, highly-coloured views of life, 
which w r ere most often essentially false j on 
her side, the old defensive hostility against 
his low opinion of what she had called in the 
past " her public life." 

Then, looking away from her, over the 
black void in which tan the river which, from 
that seat, they could not see, to the still 
deeper blackness of the southern bank, 
Wilmore began to speak, explaining his being 
where he was. 

" As I said," he remarked, in his quiet, 
level tones, " I am amusing myself. One 
must be doing something, I come down 
here and mix with the dregs. I am one of 


u Not many; not ten per cent," 

He lighted a cigarette, blew out a cloud of 
smoke r and watched it. 

4 You are fortunate. I should think." 

" No — merely very careful. I don't set up 
a carpenter in life again as a bricklayer, as 
the societies do, I'm severely practical, and I 
never disclose my power to help — well, till 
I'm satisfied/' 

Margaret Wilmore found nothing to say. 
All she now heard was so utterly new r and 
unexpected- She had never thought of her 
husband as a philanthropist, even in her 
wildest dreams. He had always seemed to 
her a clever, somewhat cynical, easy-going 
man of the world, and nothing more, 

" How long have you been doing this ? " 

" Several yeaginal from 



" No. If it did perhaps I should drop it. 
You see, there's the fascination of taking 
these men in in the first stages. I've got to 
spin a yarn to them about myself. I've got 
to take them in and be one of them. Why, 
I've had experiences such as would startle 
most respectable citizens out of their respect- 
able skins ! " 

He laughed, and the laugh seemed to die 
into a sigh. 

Margaret remembered how good he had 
been in the old days in amateur theatricals. 
She understood how it was that few, if any, 
suspected him. And she began to marvel at 
the work he was doing. 

" How many of these children have you ? " 
she asked, and on the word, despite herself, 
her voice faltered. 

" Not far short of a hundred," he told her, 
and she knew that in that moment she was 
challenged to prove that in the time since 
they had separated she had done as good 
work for the world as he had. 

She made no comment, but he knew that 
her silence itself was just that comment 
which he hoped for. 

An hour later Wilmore had done nothing 
to add to the sum total of his work, and his 
wife's notebook was still unopened. The 
latter was, indeed, forgotten. 

But what was now the chief thought in 
Margaret Wilmore's mind was still without 
expression. It seemed destined to remain so. 
That clause in the deed of separation which 
Wilmore had insisted on as a sine qua non, 
which she had resisted but had been forced 
finally to accept, came up again now in a new 
light. After all, she had somewhat _ mis- 
judged her husband. But she was disinclined 
to tell him that and very loath to admit that 
she had not written off the subject of that 
clause in her mind as she said she would at 
the time when it was being discussed. 

Then suddenly he helped her. 

" I suppose this active public life of yours 
has been very successful," he said, abruptly ; 
" but has it made you happy ? " 

" What do you mean by happy ? " she 

" Well— contented." 

" One does one's work, one's life is full, 
one does not stop to think. If one is inte- 
rested and held by one's work as I am, I 
think, at any rate, one is satisfied." 

Then he astonished her. 

" Exactly," he exclaimed, turning and 
facing her." " Just as I thought ! " 

" What ? Digil 

" Your life is really empty and miserable." 

" Nothing of the sort," she objected, 

" Yes, it is. You drug yourself with a lot 
of excitement and work to keep your mind 
too busy to do its own thinking." 

" I don't think you have any right to say 

" But I do. Why, to some extent I'm 
doing the very same thing. And do you 
think I would tell you that I am doing it if 
I had not found out that you were doing it 
also ? " 

She stared at him and, unaccountably, 
began to tremble. Something youthful had 
crept into his face. 

" And you are not happy ! " she stammered. 

" No. Reconciled and contented, perhaps, 
but not happy. And yet, to be candid, there 
are times when I am. But you, of course, 
have not that source to draw upon." 

Then she leaned towards him, and the great 
and important thought in her mind found 

" Will you take me to see Jack ? " she 

It was all the admission he wanted. It 
covered everything. 

" He's at school,'you know." 

" Of course ; but will you take me to see 
him ? " 

That had been the clause in the deed on 
which he had been adamant. His son was 
to be his entirely. His allowance to her 
would be generous,, other conditions might 
be what she pleased, but that one thing, the 
complete, absolute, and unqualified custody 
of his son, was essential. 

" I will not take you to see him yet, Mar- 
garet," he said, slowly. 

He was speaking now of the great treasure 
of his life. 

" But it is term time now," he went on, 
" and there's more than a month to the holi- 
days. Perhaps before then you and I can 
pick up something we have lost." 

" Happiness ? " 

" Yes." 

At that, woman-like, she surrendered all 
her defences at once, in one superb gift. 

" I will try," she said, simply, and held out 
her hand. 

He took it and, for a moment, held it. If 
he was saving her, she also was saving him. 
An instinct of chivalry prompted him. He 
raised it slowly to his lips. 

" Then, when we have picked it up, it will 
be safe to gc and wt Jack," he said. " He's 
a,s fine a, lit tie fellow as you could well meet," 



It savours, perhaps of a cheap effect to 
record how, when those two figures of destitu- 
tion, Richard Wilmore and his wife, walked 
eastwards towards the Black friars coffee-stall 
there was dawn in the eastern sky. But the 
fact remains. Perhaps it was another co- 

They had walked some two or three hundred 
yards without speakings w T hen Wilmore 

" I think I ought to tell you/' he said, 

She smiled j and then, still smiling, nodded, 
But she was not serious. She was only 
curious to hear what he would say, She saw 
quickly, however, that she had made a 

" No, I don't mean that/' she explained, 
hastily. " What I mean is that I cannot 
suddenly become idle. Your work is splendid, 
Keep on with it, Dick* Only, if you come 
here, I must come too." 
He was puzzled. 

" But that's impossible, 31 
he objected. 

M Surely not," she urged. 
" While you are looking out 
for a likely man, might not 
I be trying to find a likely 
woman ? n 


" that I cannot leave off altogether what I am 
doing here. It's rather fascinating, picking 
up broken men + I think I've got a 
taste for it now, I began it to amuse myself. 
But it has got deeper/* 

u Yes ? " 

" So, if you don't mind, I shall continue to 
come here sometimes and look out for a likely 
man or two," 

" And shall I also keep in touch with my 
work ? " she asked, 

" Do you mean the demonstrating and 
going to prison — that sort of thing ? " 



For a full minute he did not speak. Then, 
realizing that, in the future, they would be 
working together, seeking each other's 
advice, comparing notes, and helping each 
other with their u children/' he understood 
how it meant making that future of theirs 
quite safe, 

"Why not?" he asked, enthusiastically. 
<+ I could show you how to do it and give you 
some useful hints. For instance, at the 
present moment your hair is much too neat 
and tidy. A woman in the gutter never 
troubles about her hair/' 

Original from 



Its Stories, Legends, and Romances. 

Wherever possible, the cards reproduced belong to the period of the story attached. 

HEN you sit down to a rubber 
of bridge, or any of the other 
popular games of cards, do 
you ever stop to reflect that 
every single card of the fifty- 
two has some definite recorded 
association, that each has a 
story of its own connected with some eminent 
individual or historical episode, and often 
not one story, but several ? Suppose we 
attempt, with the aid of various authorities, 
to compile a list, not of all, but of the best of 
these stories, and evolve thereby gradually, 
and for the first time, a history of the pack of 

Hearts and diamonds, spades and clubs, 
are playing-card terms which seem to come 
to us from time immemorial ; but they are 
really comparatively modern. At different 
times and in different countries there have 
been leaves, acorns, bells, cups, swords, 
fruit, heads, and parasols ; and although we 
now retain the name " clubs," it is no longer 
the old baton which is represented, but the 
French trifle. 


At the head of the pack, or 
" deck," as it was called in Shake- 
speare's time (and is still called 
in America), stands not the ace, 
for the ancient packs had no 
aces, but the " king of hearts." 
He was originally called the 
" Carolus," because the first king of hearts 
was a portrait " gilt and coloured " of 
Charles VI. of France, the unhappy monarch 
who, dying early in the fifteenth cen- 
tury, may be called the father of playing- 
cards in Europe. But there is another and 
far more interesting reason for the name 
" Carolus." Three and a quarter centuries 
later the young Pretender, " Bonnie Prince 
Charlie," was flying for his life in the High- 
lands. He was without money, and had 
exhausted his store of trinkets and mementoes, 
when a Jacobite young lady, the daughter of 
a poor laird, begged him to write his name on 
one of the cards with which he had con- 
descended to play piquet. He readily 
consented. The card she produced was the 

king of hearts. On his leaving she begged 
the Prince to accept all the kings of hearts 
she had been able to collect from all the packs 
in the neighbourhood. " For, sir," said she, 
" you will find one of those bestowed upon 
your host and hostess ample guerdon, and a 
treasure they nor their children are likely 
ever to part with." Whence arose the title, 
" The Pretender's Visiting-card," it being 
said that the Prince had provided himself in 
France with an entire pack of cards of this 
denomination only. 


Of " The Queen of Hearts," we 
are told, " she made some tarts, 
all on a summer's day." And 
Lewis Carroll has immortalized 
her in " Alice in Wonderland." 
The place of Her Majesty the 
Queen of Hearts was formerly 
filled by a knight ; and it is to Italy, and not 
to France or England, that the glory of giving 
place aiix dames must be accorded. This 
used to be known as " Lady Coventry's 
Card." Her ladyship was one of the " beau- 
tiful Gunnings " of the reign of George II. 
On one occasion, it is said, she visited a 
fortune-teller, who drew the queen of hearts 
three separate times out of a shuffled pack. 
The first time she said, " You will be rich " ; 
the second, " You will marry a lord " ; and 
the third time, " You will die young." The 
lady laughed it off ; but when the first two 
prophecies were fulfilled, she began to enter- 
tain a dread of the queen of hearts. She 
fell noticeably into a decline, and the very 
last time she played at cards before taking 
to her bed turned up the queen as trump. 
According to one narrator, the languishing 
beauty murmured, " That card will kill me." 
She was not twenty-eight when she died. 
Horace Walpole says : " Poor Lady Coventry 
concluded her short race with the same atten- 
tion to her looks. She lay constantly on her 
couch with a pocket-glass in her hand ; 
and when that told her how great the change 
was, she took her to bed the last fortnight, 
had no light in her room but the lamp of a 
tea-kettle, and at last took things in through 
the curtains of her bed without suffering 




them to be undrawn." Ten thousand persons 
went to her funeral. No wonder that when 
the queen of hearts was played thereafter at 
fashionable card " routs " there should have 
been some unspoken thought of the fair 
but fated Maria Gunning ! 


As for Hearty Jackanapes, 
otherwise the knave of hearts, 
he has a perennial association 
with knavery, other than that 
fanciful exploit commemorated 
in the famous nursery rhyme, 

The Knave of Hearts he stole those tarts 

And took them all away. 

For it was the knave of hearts which, when 
seen in the sleeve of a certain Chinaman in 
Los Angeles, first suggested to Bret Harte 
the incident immortalized in his poem on the 
" Heathen Chinee," a " right bower " being 
the title of* this card in the game of euchre : — 

But the hands that were played 

By that heathen Chinee 

And the points that he made 

Were quite frightful to see. 

Till at last he put down a right bower 

Which the same Nye had dealt unto mc. 

To this day in many parts of the Far West 
the jack of hearts is known colloquially over 
the card-table as the " Heathen Chinee/' or 
simply as " The Heathen." 


The ten of hearts is associated 
with Lord Lauderdale, who 
related the incident to Croker, 
without, however, telling him 
that he himself was the hero. In 
February, 1773, a party had 
been playing at Brooks's Club, 
of which Fox and Lauderdale were members. 
Play began on a Wednesday evening at half- 
past five and was continued all through the 
night without intermission. On Thursday 
Lauderdale had promised to be best man at 
a wedding, but was obliged to send word that 
a substitute must be found, as, having won 
largely, he had pledged his honour not to rise 
until his opponents gave the signal. When 
they had been playing twenty-eight hours 
and only the excitement prevented a physical 
collapse, the luck began to turn, and Lauder- 
dale lost. In one hour he had lost twenty 
thousand pounds. Soon after midnight both 
sides were even and it was proposed that they 
should rise, when Lauderdale declared that 
he would not waste his time for nothing. 
He would stake five thousand pounds that if 
the ten of hearts were dealt him he would take 
a trick with it. The wager was accepted, 
and fourteen rounds were played without 

Lauderdale once receiving the card in ques- 
tion. At length, when exhausted Nature 
would be cudgelled or cajoled no longer, the 
ten of hearts was dealt to him. At the fourth 
hand, when hearts were called for, he, having 
it still in his hand, revoked. The cry which 
burst from the others recalled him to his 
senses ; he paid his forfeit, tore the card in 
two, and, without leaving the room, stretched 
himself on a sofa and slept until broad day- 
light. Such were the customs and freaks of 
our ancestors. 


is a 

"The ivttve pfawjk Jii/ff 
Cated the jjl +dpoJUe$ 

game of cards, 
derived, of 
course, from 
Napoleon, but 
the term used 
formerly, for 
some reason or 
other, to be ap- 
plied to the nine 
of hearts. It is, 
therefore, a 
singular coinci- 
dence that a 
copy of this 
card bearing 
certain simple 
English words 
in the calli- 
graphy of the Emperor Napoleon should 
be preserved in the Dresden Museum. 
The occasion on which the words were 
written once caused much speculation, and 
at one time they were supposed to be 
some form of code message to the lady, wife 
of an eminent ambassador, to whom the card 
was originally given. Afterwards it appeared 
that the Emperor was learning English at the 
time, and, believing he could dispense with 
the rules of grammar, had begun his studies 
by committing to memory a number of one- 
syllable words, chiefly nouns. . Meeting a 
fair Englishwoman at a card-party, he seized 
the only available scrap of paper, apparently 
in order to demonstrate his accomplishments, 
or perhaps to ascertain the correct pronuncia- 
tion of such words as " come," " love," 
" been," and " house." We are told that 
Napoleon's endeavours to conquer the Eng- 
lish language were not persisted in, and that 
he soon gave up in disgust. This card 
remains a memento of his defeat. 


The eight of hearts was once called " The 

IW WE&rt#fflflffi.^* re was a 



whist-party in Edinburgh, one of the players 
being a young married lady. The excite- 
ment over the play was very great. At a 
critical moment of the game it was discovered 
that there was a misdeal, the lady having 
only twelve cards. The cards were dealt 

again, and all 
h€*«g*tt« it icg qFFgfl seemed right 

7K until the eight 
of hearts was 
called for. No- 
body had it, 
and it was 
found that the 
lady was a card 
short. A search 
was made forth- 
with for the 
card, when all 
was suddenly 
thrown into 
confusion by an 
interesting an- 
nouncement. A 
physician was 
hastily sum- 
moned, but be- 
fore his arrival 
a girl-child was born. Amongst those present 
was David Hume, who playfully dubbed the 
little stranger " The Parenthesis," and, 
according to Sir Walter Scott, it was by this 
title that, years afterwards, when she had 
grown up and become a social ornament of 
the Scottish capital, the lady was distin- 
guished. Nothing further is said of the miss- 
ing eight of hearts, nor is there any hint, even 
by the Wizard of the North, of a possible 
transformation of the card into a living 


On November 22nd, 1774, the 
great Lord Give had been play- 
ing at whist at his town house 
in Berkeley Square. He had 
just dealt the cards and turned 
up the trump. It was the seven 
of hearts. Clive is said to 
have paused, lifted up the card, scrutinized 
it calmly, put it down again, and then, 
begging pardon of the company, excused 
himself for a moment. Not returning, one 
of the gentlemen grew anxious, followed 
Clive, and found him with his throat cut, a 
pen-knife on the floor. 


The six of hearts is still occasionally re- 
ferred to as " Grace's Card," or the " Grace 
Card." How did it come by this appella- 

tion ? It has nothing to do with 
any one of the three Graces. It 
appears that in 1689 one John 
Grace, Baron of Courtstown, one 
of the chief men of Kilkenny 
County, raised a regiment of 
foot and a troop of horse at 
his own expense for King James. One of 
the Duke of Schomberg's emissaries en- 
deavoured to seduce him to the side of 
the Dutch usurper, but the brave Jacobite, 
taking a card which lay near him on the 
table, returned on it a spirited refusal. The 
card, which he sent open by the bearer of the 
rejected offer, was the six of hearts, and 
it was generally known in the city as 
"Grace's Card." 


Because on a memorable 
occasion he " re - negged," or 
revoked, with the five of hearts, 
the Rev. John Taylor renounced 
card-playing for ever. If the 
revoking had been simple and 
unaccompanied by any other 
circumstance it is possible this violent renun- 
ciation had never taken place. But, un- 
happily — we are told — the gentle bard lost 
his temper, denied the impeachment, and 
"ripped out two or three full-bodied objurga- 
tions, a thing that so went against his con- 
science that to guard himself against a repeti- 
tion he had the unlucky card framed and hung 
in a conspicuous place in his dwelling-room 
as " a perpetual reminder against the sin of 
losing one's self-control." . 


In Northumberland and other 
parts of the North the four of 
hearts used to be denominated 
" Hob Collingwood." " By the 
ancient dames," writes Mr. W. P. 
Courtney, in his book on English 
Whist, " who form so large a 
section of card life in the provinces, it was 
considered an unlucky card to be found in 
the hand." He does not offer any explana- 
tion, but the connection is well ascertained 
between Hob Collingwood and the tradition 
of the long-missing heir to an estate, whose 
body was discovered months after his dis- 
appearance in a wood, his right hand clutching 
the four of hearts. There is a Percy ballad 
on the subject, in which the last verse informs 
us : — 

O dead he lay upon the hill, 

All dabbled in his gore ; 
Five li^i:U there were and all were still, 

For his own did L>eai no more. 




A year or two after the terrible bursting of 
the Mississippi Bubble in France and the South 

Sea Bubble in 
England, which 
involved thou- 
sands in utter 
ruin ; it hap* 
pened that Ais- 
labie, the dis- 
credited Chan- 
cellor of the 
Exchequer, ar- 
rived at Venice, 
ignorant of the 
fact that in this 
city the fugitive 
French finan- 
cier, Law, had 
taken up his resi- 
dence, A gentle- 
man named 
Warton, one of 
the South Sea sufferers, resolved to bring 
them together at his house, Thus Law and 
Aislabie met. After dinner cards were pro- 
posed ; packs were produced by the lady of 
the house, and the two notorious financiers 
seated themselves preparatory to play. Mrs. 
War ton rut, when it was noticed that the 
cards were of an odd pattern. Aislabie cut, 
turned up the three of hearts, examined it 
carefully, ran his eye through the second 
pack, rose, bowed stiffly } and, without a word, 
left the house. When Law became aware of 
the cause of the Englishman's departure, he, 
too, found occasion for offence in the pattern 
of ihc'cardSj which consisted of a Dutch satire 
on their own financial schemes, and angrily 
excused himself. The lady long kept the 

pack, which 
passed into the 
hands of a 


The two of 
hearts is tradi- 
tionally associ- 
ated with the 
invention of the 
game of whist. 
Before 1 7 29, such 
games as crimp 
and hazard, 
commerce and 
quadrille, were 

the fashionable card-games. All the deuces 
were eliminated from the pack, which, how- 
ever, consisted of fifty-tw T o cards. It was 
considered vulgar to play with deuces, because 
an element of chance popular in the kitchen 
attached to them as " swabbers " or 
u s wipers " in the game of " whisk and 
swabbers/ 1 The players who held a deuce 
were entitled to take up a share of the stake 
independent of the general event of the game. 
In other words, the deuces swept the board 
as a seaman " swabs '* the decks. One even- 
ing at the Crown coffee - house in Bedford 
Row a game of whist was proposed instead 
of the usual quadrille. When the cards were 
dealt it was found that the deuce of hearts 
was still in the pack, " The deuce take it ! f 
cries a player* " Nay,' 1 quoth Sir Jacob de 
Bouverie, u let the deuce remain. I move 
that all the deuces be brought back. 7 ' And 
brought back they were. According to a 
modern commentator, " By this simple 
restoration of the four lowest cards, and the 
alteration of the numbers of the tricks and 
points which their presence necessitated, the 
game of whist was placed in a condition for 
the introduction of more scientific treatment." 
In a short time whist had ousted all its com- 
petitors. Perhaps to-day even bridge would 
be unborn if nearly two centuries ago a deuce 
of hearts had not at a critical moment 
managed to insinuate itself into a certain 
pack of cards. 


Ace is a word derived from the 
Latin "as/ 1 a unit. At first there 
was no ace in the pack, but if 
Latimer's Card, which was sold 
not so long ago at Sotheby's, 
is a genuine relic, the ace 
must have been part and parcel 
of the pack before 1530. It appears that the 
great divine on more than one occasion 
preached a sermon on " Salvation by Christ's 
Cards," taking a " deck M of cards into the 
pulpit and illustrating his points by exhibiting 
the cards referred to. " Let us," he said, 
" play at triumph " (from which the term 
i( trump " is derived). He went on to tell his 
congregation that hearts were trumps, £i Here 
is your heart (holding up an ace) ; turn up 
your trump and cast your all on this card." 
Doubtless the ace was to represent the 
Divine Unity, which recalls the oft- told story 
of the sailor, who explained his motives for 
card-playing on the ground of piety^ each 
card in its turn reminding him of the cardinal 
truths and persons of his religion, adding to 
ten Apostles one oi the kings as Peter and 




the knave as 
judas. This 
audacious inge- 
nuity fairly 
silenced his 
fault-finder, who 
left him to his 
" God's picture- 


Where the king 
of diamonds 
first earned its 
evil reputation 
in some coun- 
tries is not 
known. The 
famous Marianne Lenormand was once 
besought by Joachim Murat when King 
of Naples to tell his fortune. He cut 
the cards; the king of diamonds appeared. 
In some — perhaps in most — fortune-telling 
systems this card is considered to portend 
the utmost ill-fortune, its sobriquet being 
Le Grand Pendu, or The Great Hanged One. 
Murat laid ten napoleons on the table and 
cut again, Again the fatal king of diamonds. 
He offered first fifty and then a hundred 
napoleons for a final chance, but Marianne 
angrily threw the cards at his head, bidding 
him begone. Murat was executed in 1815. 


Another asso- 
ciation of the 
king of dia- 
monds together 
with the queen 
is that they were 
preserved by 
Mme. de Main- 
tenon in her 
journal, which 
was destroyed 
not long after 
her death, The 
legend runs that 
the two cards 
formed part of 
the pack with 
which Louis 
XIV. and the 
celebrated widow of Scarron were playing at 
piquet when His Majesty proposed a secret 


In the Hermitage at St. Petersburg may be 
seen two cards, the eight of diamonds and the 
knave (or valet) of diamonds, which are 

Vol *lii.-14 


described as 
the cards with 
which Frederick 
the Great played 
in the company 
of Count Lacey 
on 1 he eve of one 
of his famous 


The ten of 
diamonds is, 
according to 
several authori- 
ties, including 
Mr, Courtney, 
known in York- 
shire as " Picks*" But this spelling conceals 
the real origin of the name. It was bestowed 
upon it by the notorious " monks " of Med- 
menham Abbey in the middle 
of the eighteenth century, the 
watchword of admission to their 
nocturnal orgies being " Pyx/ J 
accompanied by the production 
of a ten of diamonds. This card 
is also called "'Taffy/' probably 
a reference to its occasionally 
being a M Welsh honour/' as the ten of 
trumps used to be known. It is now 
called the fifth honour. We will see later 
that the ten of another suit is " The Druid ." 


All the world over, wherever cards are 
played, the nine of diamonds is called u The 
Curse of Scotland." What is the origin of 
this phrase ? The most commonly accepted 
explanation is that the Duke of Cumberland 
used the back of the nine of diamonds to 
indite the order 
for the massacre 
of the wounded 
rebels after the 
Battle of Cul- 
l o d e n , . But 
against this 
theory there is. 
the evidence 
that the card 
was so called 
long before Cul- 
lodem Some 
years back a 
writer boldly 
stated that the 
Duke did write 
his order on 
its back, ©pjaftnal 





ing, moreover , thai " the identical card 
is preserved at Slams Castle, Aberdeen- 
shire, the seat of Lord Erroll." Inquiry of 
Lord Erroll proves that the card preserved 
there is the eight of diamonds sent by the Duke 
of Hamilton to the Countess of Yarmouth, 

Another authority explains the term by a 
reference to the arms of Dairy m pie, Lord 
Stair , which are nine lozenges on a sal tire, 
the number and shape of the spots being 
identical and their, arrangement sufficiently 
similar. Sir James Dalrymple, first Earl of 
Stair 5 was the object of much execration^ 
especially from the adherents of the Stuarts, 
for his share in the Massacre of Glencoe, 

Years before quite another interpretation 
was in vogue, and the " curse of diamonds " 
was held as a perversion of the tE cross of 
Scotland/' the nine of diamonds forming a 
cross, suggesting the cross of St- Andrews. In 
the Northern Highlands the name of George 
Campbell , a notorious freebooter, has often 
been applied to the nine of diamonds. Having 
stolen nine valuable diamonds from the 
crown in Edinburgh (as tie, he was the cause 
of a heavy tax being laid^on the whole country, 
and, as a consequence, the nine of diamonds 
was known as the national curse. 

A further association of the nine of dia- 
monds is of a more placid character. It is 
the curious example of a map of Devonshire 
(shown on the previous page), now pasted in 
Dr. James Houstoun's copy of his own 
il Sylva/ 3 which he used as ,a book-mark, 
Packs of this description enjoyed consider- 
able popularity in the seventeenth century. 


Mention has already been made of the 
eight of diamonds as one of the cards played 

by Frederick 
the Great and 
now preserved 
at the Russian 
capital, and 
also to an eight 
of diamonds 
still to be seen 
at Slains Castle. 
The Countess 
of Yarmouth, 
mistress of 
King George 
1 1 # t was a 
woman of great 
power and in- 
fluence, whom 
it was danger- 
ous to offend* 

^viii \1%V{X 

raff* {T v - .^- ^irtlSfes 

if J^Jt\--4 

• r ^m ' _^tlFf^" ■*■" -•**' jn 

^p*-~ -*^^ 

On one occasion the fifth Duke of 



sat down to her card-table and rose a con- 
siderable winner, Not receiving any winnings 
from the fa% T ourite, however, he judged 
it a proper moment to demand her kind 
offices for one of his dependents. Weeks 
passed f the office sought was given to somebody 
else, and the Duke was impelled when he was 
next in Lady Yarmouth's neighbourhood to 
send her a reminder in the form of a few words 
scribbled on the eight of diamonds. The fact 
of the card having been returned to him and 
presented by the wife of the sixth Duke to 
Lord Erroll would seem to point to the fact 
of the message being considered an imper- 
tinence, and it is extremely doubtful whether 
his Grace ever received his money or his 
friend the coveted boon, 


There are 
several stories 
of cards being 
played on 
death - beds ; 
but perhaps the 
best is that re- 
lating to a Mrs. 
Hotchkiss, of 
Leeds j who, like 
Charles IL, had 
been " an un- 
conscion able 
time a-dying " 
— no less than 
eleven years, in 
fact— and who, 
when her end 
came, w a s 
paralyzed in all but her faculties. During 
these eleven years she had been accustomed 
to play ccartc in bed. When the end came 
in 1795 very suddenly she was about to play 
the seven of diamonds. Seeing that all was 
over, the attendants tried to detach the card 
from her hand, but it was held in the grip of 
death. It was proposed to cut it away, when 
her son interfered and said that inasmuch as 
it was her ruling passion, even unto death, 
the emblem should be buried with hen And 
it was. On this story being told to George 
Selwyn, he observed, "Ah ? then, when the last 
trump sounds, Mrs. Hotchkiss will hold it ! " 


The association of card-playing 
and hymnody may strike many 
as preposterous, and yet the fact 
remains that the famous Toplady 
was an enthusiastic devotee of 
whist, and the first suggestion 
of his finest hymn was scribbled 




on a playing-card — the six of diamonds. The 
card itself, long preserved in the family, but 
now in America, was inscribed across the 
middle with the words : — 

Pock of Ages, cleft for me, 
Let ine hide myself in Thee. 
Mar. 12. 


The five of diamonds has 
earned immortality as the card 
on which Charles James Fox is 
traditionally stated to have 
staked no less a sum than ten 
thousand pounds one night at 
faro at Brooks's Club. An instance 
has already been given of the extravagant 
play which raged at Brooks's, White's, 
and Crockford's in those days. Perhaps 
in this case, as Fox lost, the result was 
similar to that recorded on another occa- 
sion, when the brilliant young statesman's 
opponent remarked : " Oh, yes. I have just 
won a thousand guineas from Charles ; but 
as the bailiffs are after him I have compounded 
for a supper at the club." 


One evening there was a great 
and merry party at Charles 
Lamb's, at which whist was 
played until two in the morning — 
six rubbers ; the most notable fact 
being that at the beginning of 
every rubber the four of diamonds 
was turned up as trumps. Not only that, but 
the card was nearly always held in the other 
games by Lamb or his partner, Burney, 
" which was the cause of much merriment, 
Robinson declaring that the card had been 
magnetized by Lamb, which charge Lamb 
professed to receive with indignation. Every- 
one knew that diamonds were naturally 
attractive. But why the four ? " 


The story runs that when James II., desir- 
ing to show his liberal mind as regards physi- 
cal science, in spite of his illiberal political 
opinions, invited Sir Isaac Newton and 
Halley, the president of the Royal Society, 
to the palace, the company sat down to a 
game of comet, the cards supplied being an 
astronomical pack. It was a delicate atten- 
tion, no doubt, to the philosophers, but 
hardly atoned for the monarch's subsequent 
discourtesy, both to the society and to the 
University of Cambridge. The three of dia- 


TVp Hercules 





monds was 
long preserved 
as a memento 
of the occa- 
s i o n . The 
comment of a 
later great 
Herschel, to 
whom the card 
was shown, 
may be re- 
corded. "Why 
didn't the 
artist make five 
points to his 
stars ? There's 
no use upset- 
ting conven- 
tion." Which 
illustrates Herschel's knowledge of playing- 


It was while Archbishop Corn- 
wallis was indulging in a game 
of whist, for which practice he 
had been repeatedly reproved 
by George III., who disapproved 
of cards, and was about to 
play the deuce of diamonds, 
that he was suddenly affected by palsy in his 
right hand and the card in question was 
dashed to the floor. This was taken, in 
certain Methodistical circles, as a judgment 
of Heaven, and a caricature inscribed " The 
Deuce has got the Prelate " was circulated. 
But the archbishop ascribed his visitation 
to other causes, and long continued to enjoy 
a quiet rubber in spite of his affliction. He 
was once not a little put out of countenance 
by the naive observation of a young lady that 
in her part of the country (Lincolnshire) a 
two of diamonds was denominated " The 
Curse of Cornwallis." 


To close the history of this 

suit, the remaining card has a 

distinctive name in Ireland. 

There the ace of diamonds is 

known as " The Earl of Cork," 

and the odd reason which has 

been given for this appellation is 

that it is the worst ace and the poorest card 

in the pack, and he is " the poorest nobleman 

in the country." 

(Stories of the Clubs and Spades will be given next month.) 



Puzzles and Solutions. By Henry E. Duieney. 

Eight motorists drove tc church one 
morning. Their respective houses and 
churches, together with the only roads 
available (the dotted lines), are shown. 
One went from his house A to his church 

A. another from his house B to his church 

B, another from C to C, and so on, but 
it was afterwards found that no 
driver ever crossed the track of 
another car. Take your pencil and 
try to trace out their various routes. 

.-!— ± 


I....!. -J... 

Four 9's may be made to represent 
100 in this way : 998 = 100. Also, with 
four 5 T s, we can write (5 + 5) x (5 4- 5) = 
100. Which other digits may be made 
to represent 100 by using four of them ? 
The correct answer is quite amusing. 




: J : i i s £Ai 

i : : : i ! P 

-•--•l — 


i— :— r 


Place two pawns in the middle of the chessboard, 
one at Q 4 and the other at K 5. Now, how many 
more pawns can you place so that no three shall be in 
a straight line in any possible direction ? 


I paid a man a shilling for some apples, but they 
were so small that I made him throw in two extra 
apples. I find that made them cost just a penny a 
dozen less than the first price he asked. How many 
apples did I get for my shilling ? 

Solutions to Last Month's Puzzles. 

43.— A RAILWAY MUDDLE. moves : 1 Q takes B P (ch.) ; Kt takes Q. 2 B takes 

Only six reversals are necessary. The white train Kt (ch.) ; K to Q sq. 3 Kt to K 6 (mate). If Black 

(from A to D) is divided into three sections, engine does not take the queen, White mates with the knight 

on the second move. 

1 2- 


3 *hCT\ 



and 7 wagons, 8 wagons, and 1 wagon. The black 
train (D to A) never uncouples anything throughout. 
Fig. 1 is original position with 8 and 1 uncoupled. The 
black train proceeds to position in Fig. 2 (no reversal). 
The engine and 7 proceed towards D and black train 
backs, leaves 8 on loop, and takes up position in Fig. 3 
(first reversal). Black train goes to position in Fig. 4 
to fetch single wagon (second reversal). Black train 
pushes 8 off loop and leaves single wagon there, pro- 
ceeding on its journey, as in Fig. 5 (third and fourth 
reversals). White train now backs on to loop to pick 
up single car and goes right away to D (fifth and sixth 
reversals). ' 

THE best play for White is to checkmate in three 

The diagram shows how to cut into five pieces to 
form a square. The dotted lines are intended to show 
how to find the points C and F — the only difficulty. 
A B is half B D and A E is parallel to B H. With the 
point of the compasses at B describe the arc H E, and 
A E will be the distance of C from B. Then F G equals 
B C less A B. 

As the number of pence, 361, has to be divided 
equally among a number of children, it is clear that 19 
children must have received 19 pence each. That 361 
children each received one penny is impossible in silver 
coins. Now, I9d. cannot be paid in silver except with 
the use of a fourpenny piece, but the affair took place 
44 some years ago." Six children each received 5 
threepenny pieces and 1 fourpenny piece ; 6 children 
each received 4 fourpenny pieces and t threepenny ; 
6 children each received 1 sixpence, 1 fourpenny, and 
3 threepenny ; and 1 child received 2 sixpences, 1 four- 
penny, and 1 threepenny piece. Thus, not more than 
6 children received their money in exactly the same way 
and there were just 100 cc'u*s. 




HEN Mrs. Wilmington found 
Rupert asleep among the re- 
mains of the dewy (rushed 
rose-leaves she had the sense 
not to disturb him, but to put 
two more blankets over him 
and to let him go on sleeping, 
while she wrapped herself in a shawl and 
spent what was left of the night on the blue 
sofa at the end of the four-post bed. 

Uncle Charles, coming down neat and earl}' 
to his study, was met by a very pale house- 
keeper with prim lips tightly set, who said : — 
41 If you please, sir, them children leave 
this house, or else I do, I mean those 

" What have they been doing now ? * 
asked the uncle, wearily. 

11 Doing their very best to murder that 
poor young gentleman in his very bed/' said 
the housekeeper, looking like a thin portrait 
of Mrs. Hidduns. 

" Did they put flowers and things into the 

Digitized by G( 


Illustrated by H. R. Millar. 

boy's food or drink ? " the uncle asked 

" Worse, sir — far worse. They put him 
into flowers and things. And I've taken the 
liberty of sending for the doctor. And, please , 
mayn't I pack their boxes ? No one's lives 
is safe— are f I mean-" Mrs* Wilmington 
sniffed and got out her handkerchief. 

" Please control yourself," said the uncle. 
" I will inquire into what you have told me, 
and I will see the doctor when he has seen 
the boy. In the meantime, kindly refrain 
from further fuss/' 

Mrs. Wilmington told the children briefly 
that they had nearly killed Rupert, and that 
they were not to think of going out and getting 
into any more mischief, as possibly they wou.d 
not be there on the morrow. But Harriet 
secretly told them that Rupert was better. 

The only thing to do, they felt, was to ask 
the doctor whether they had really done 
Rupert an\ harm. So they waylaid him in 
the hall. 

w He's much better/' said the doctor rub- 
bing his hands cheerfully, " Your rose- 
leaves were a variant of what is known as the 
packing treatment. You did him a world of 




good, But/' he added, has lily , as Uncle 
Charles, behind him, uttered the ghost of a 
grunt, " it might have been very dangerous — 
very. Verdict : Not guilty, but don't do it 

And with that he laughed in a jolly, red- 
faced way, and went out of the front door and 
on to his horse and rode away. 

" And now" said the uncle, leading the way 
back into the dining-room. 

" I hope it won't be lines/' Charles told 
himself. " I'd rather anything than lines/' 

" I hope it won't be keeping us in/ 1 thought 
Caroline. u I'd rather anything than be kept 
in. And such a fine day, 

And still the uncle paused, 
till Charlotte could bear it 
no longer, She said, "Oh, 
uncle ! We really didn't 
mean to be naughty. And 
it really hasn't hurt him. 
But we don't want to shirk. 
Only don't keep us sus- 
pended. Let us know the 
worst. Are we to be hanged 
for a sheep as a lamb ? 
You know you're hanged 
twice if you're hanged 
quickly. We'll do whatever 
you say, and we don't mind 
being punished if you think 
we ought. Only don't do 
what the Wil— I mean Mrs. 
Wilmington — said." 

" What did she say ? " 

<( She said perhaps we 
shouldn't be here to-morrow. 
Oh ! " said Charlotte, and 
began to cry. So did Caro- 
line. Charles put his hands 
in his pockets and sniffed- 

81 Don't!" said the uncle, 
earnestly — *' please don't. I 
certainly have no intention 
of punishing you for what 
was a mistake." But all the 
same he talked in a way that 
made them cry more, 
"And/ 5 he ended, " I want 
you to promise me that you will not only 
refrain from administering your remedies 
internally, but that you will not make any 
external application of them to any of your 
friends — or enemies/' he added, hastily, 

" Of course we promise/' said everyone. 

" Now dry your eyes/' said the uncle, 
" and run out and play/' 

They went round to the terraced garden 

and sat on the grass and talked it all 

" And if ever there was an angel uncle, ours 
is it," said Charlotte. 

" Yes," said Charles ; " and Rupert is 
better. I'm glad we did it, aren't 
you ? " 

*' 1 suppose so. Yes. No, Yes. I don't 
know/' said Caroline. " You see, the spell 
worked. That's a great thing to be sure of, 

It was the one thing, however, that they 
couldn't persuade Rupert to be sure oL He 


was certainly better, but, as he pointed out, 
he might have got better without the rose- 

* l Of course, it was jolly decent of you to 
get them, and all that," he said, " but the 
medicine the doctor gave me cured me, I 
expect. I don't want to be ungrateful, but 
what are doctors for, anyhow ? " 

u I don't kn^jgi W Charles. " But I 




know you jolly-well tried fern-seed when you 
pretended to be invisible.' ' 

" I feel much older than I did then/' said 
Rupert, biting ends of grass as he lay on the 
dry, crisp turf. It was the first day of his 
being loosed from those bonds which hamper 
the movements of persons who have been ill. 

However, all this was now over for Rupert, 
and he was one of the others. His parents, 
by the way, had telegraphed thanking Uncle 
Charles very much and accepting his invita- 
tion for Rupert to spend the rest of the holi- 
days at the Manor House. So that now there 
seemed to be no bar to complete enjoyment, 
except that one little fact that Rupert 
wouldn't believe in spells. 

" But the fern-seed acted/' said Caroline, 
" and the secret rose acted, and the Rosi- 
curian rose-leaves acted/' 

" I don't see how you can say the fern-seed 
acted. I wasn't invisible, because you all 
saw me through the window." 

" Oh, but," said Charlotte, eagerly, " don't 
you see ? You wanted us to see you. You 
can't expect a spell to act if you don't want 
it to act. I wouldn't myself, if I was a spell." 

" It wasn't that at all," said Caroline. 
" Don't you remember we chewed the fern- 
seed to make us see invisible things, and we 
saw you ? And you were invisible, because 
you chewed fern-seed too. It came out just 
perfectly ; only you won't see it. But let's 
try it again if you like — the fern-seed, I 

But Rupert wouldn't. He preferred to 
read " The Dog Crusoe," lying on his front 
upon the grass. The others also got books. 

Next day Rupert felt more alive, as he 

" Now, look here," he said at breakfast, 
" suppose we go and discover the North 
Pole ? " 

" That would be nice," said Caroline. 
" The attics ? We've never explored them 

" No ; attics are for wet days," said Rupert. 

41 Not the real North Pole, you don't 
mean ? " said Charles, quite ready to believe 
that Rupert might mean anything, however 
wonderful and adventurous. 

" No," said Rupert. " What I thought of 
was a via medias res" 

" Latin," explained Charles to the girls. 

11 It means a middle way. You ask your 
uncle to let us take our lunch out ; bread and 
cheese and cake will do. And to not expect 
us till tea-time, and perhaps not then. We'll 
just go where we think we will, and shut our 
eyes when we pass sign-posts and post-offices. 

We might get lost, you know ; but I'd take 
care of you." 

" We mustn't disturb the uncle," Caroline 
reminded them. " We promised. Not for a 

" Write him a letter," said Rupert. 

And this is the letter they wrote — at least, 
Caroline wrote it, and they all signed their 
names : — 

" Dearest Uncle," (" ' Dearest ' is rot," 
said Charles, looking at Rupert to be sure 
that he thought so too. "Put ' Dear.' " 
" But * Dear ' is rottener," answered Caroline, 
going on ; " it's what you say to the butcher 
when you write about the ribs that ought 
to have been Sir something. / know.") 
" Please may we go out for the day and take 
our lunch bread and cheese and cake would 
do Rupert says he will take care of us and 
not expect us home till tea and perhaps not 
then with love 

" Caroline 
" Charlotte 
" Charles." 

" Rupert can't sign because he's * he ' in 
the letter. Only the * we's ' can sign," said 

And Harriet took the letter to the uncle, 
and the uncle wrote back : — 

11 By all means. I am sure you will remem- 
ber not to administer spells internally or 
externally to anyone you may meet. Be 
home by half-past six. If anything should 
detain you, send a telegram. I enclose half 
a crown for incidental expenses. — Your 
Dearest Uncle." 

" How sweet of him ! " the girls agreed, 
and Charles wanted to know what sort of 
expenses he meant. 

" Incidental ? Oh, if you want an apple 
or some chocs in a hurry, and don't happen 
to have any chink on you," Rupert explained. 
" Or ginger beer. Or raw eggs to suck as 
you go along. They're very sustaining when 
all other food's despaired of." 

The uncle must have given orders, for 
Harriet soon brought in four neat brown- 
paper parcels. 

" Your lunches," she said. " Hope you'll 
enjoy yourselves. You've got a nice day for 
your outing. Bring me a keepsake, won't 
you, from wherever it is you're going to ? " 

" Of course we will," said Charlotte. 
" What would you like ? " 

But Harriet laughed, and said she was only 

They put on their thinnest clothes, for it 
was a very hot day, and they got William to 
cut them ash-sticks, " In case we want to 




be pilgrims with staffs/' said Charles. The 
girls were very anxious for Rupert to wear 
his school blazer ; and so flattering were 
their opinions of it, and of him, and of it on 
him, and of him in it, that he consented. 
Charles wore his school blazer, and the girls' 
frocks were of blue muslin, and they had their 
soft white muslin hats, so they looked very 
bright and yet very cool as they started off 
down the drive with their ash-sticks over 
their shoulders and their brown-paper parcels 
in knotted handkerchiefs dangling from the 
ends of the sticks. 

" Who shall we be ? " Charlotte asked, as 
they passed into the shadow of the woods 
where, the road runs through to the lodge gate. 

" I'll be Nansen," said Charles. " I wish 
we had some Equismo dogs and a sledge." 

" It's Eskimo," said Rupert. 

" I know it is," said Charles. 

"I don't believe you did," said Rupert; 
and Charles turned red and the girls looked at 
each other uncomfortably. 

" I didn't say I did," Charles answered. 
" Not when I said it first. I meant I know 
now you've told me. It looked like Equismo 
in the books." 

This was disarming. Rupert could do no 
less than thump Charles on the back and say, 
" Sorry, old man," and Caroline hastened to 
say, " What will you be, Rupert ? " 

" Why, Rupert, of course. Prince Rupert. 
He invented Prince Rupert drops, that are 
glass and crumble to powder if you look at 
them too hard. And he fought at Naseby — 
Rupert of the Rhine, you know. ' For Charles, 
King of England, and Rupert of the Rhine ! ' 
he shouted." 

" Oh, I say," Charles urged, " do let me be 
Charles if you're Rupert. It's only fair." 

" You can't keep changing," said Rupert. 
" Besides, Charles had his head chopped off 

" Well, Rupert died too, if you come to 
that. You might, Rupert." 

And the girls said, " Do let him," so Rupert 
said, " All right, I don't mind." 

Charlotte said she would be Joan of Arc, 
and Caroline chose Boadicea. 

" She was British, you see," Caroline 
explained, " and Aunt Emmeline says you 
ought to support home industries." 

" Now we all call each other by our play- 
names all day," Charlotte said, " and if you 
make a mistake you lose a mark." 

" Who keeps the marks ? " 

" You keep your own, of course. Counting 
on your fingers ; and if you did it ten times 
you'd tie a knot in your handkerchief. Aunts 

do it ten times if they play often. We 

Here Boadicea, Joan of Arc, Prince Rupert, 
and King Charles turned out of the lodge gate, 
and the exploring expedition began at seven- 
teen minutes past ten precisely. The three 
C.'s kept up the game, calling each other by 
the new names with frequency and accurate- 
ness, but Rupert grew more and more silent, 
and when Charlotte addressed him as Prince 
Rupert, the stainless knight, he told her not 
to be silly. 

At a quarter past twelve the four children, 
very dusty, very hot, and rather tired, reached 
a level crossing. The gates were shut because 
a train was coming, and already, as you looked 
along the line, you could see the front of the 
engine getting bigger and blacker, and the 
steam from it getting whiter and puffier, and 
you could feel the vibration of its coming in 
the shuddering of the gate you leaned on. 

The train stopped, in a snorting, panting 
hurry, at the little station just beside the 
gates, let out a few passengers, shook itself 
impatiently, screamed, and went on. The 
big gates across the road swung slowly back 
till they stretched across the railway, and the 
people who had got out of the train came 
down the sloping end of the platform and 
through the small swing-gates, and the four 
children, who were crossing the line, met the 
little crowd from the train half-way. There 
were two women with baskets, a man with a 
bandy-legged dog, and a girl with a large band- 
box partly hidden by brown paper, and — 
the four children were face to face with him 
before they knew that there was anyone 
coming from that train whom they had rather 
not be face to face with — the Murdstone man 
himself. He was not a yard from them. 
Rupert threw up his head and backed a little 
as if he expected to be hit. The three C.'s 
breathed a deep concerted " Oh ! " and 
trembled on the edge of what might be going 
to happen. No one knew what Mr. 
Murdstone's power might be. Could he seize 
on Rupert and take him away ? Could he 
call the police ? Anything seemed possible 
in that terrible instant when they were con- 
fronted, suddenly and beyond hope of retreat, 
with the hated master. 

And nothing happened at all. The Murd- 
stone man passed by. He gave a cold, sour, 
unrecognizing glance at the three C.'s, but he 
never looked at Rupert. He looked over his 
head as though Rupert had not been there, 
and passed on. 

Rupert grew very red and said nothing. 
The girls looked at e&di other, 




" Let's walk along by the river/' said 
Caroline, " and then well tell you why he 
didn't look at you." 

'* You'll tell me now/' said Rupert, firmly, 
** or I won't go another step. 7 ' 

" He didn't look at you," said Charlotte, 
(t because he didn't see you, And he didn't 
see you because you were invisible just when 
you wanted to be," 

Li I didn't want to be/' said Rupert* " At 
least Oh, well, come on*" 

When they had reached a green meadow 

are made in. "Fern-seed! Char and I 
seccotined it on while you and Charles were 
washing your hands. We meant to ask you 
to wish to be invisible when we went into a 
shop or something, just to prove about spells, 
but you did it without our asking. And now 
you will believe, won't you ? " 

11 I can't" said Rupert. " Don't talk 
about it any more. Lets have the ^rub out*" 

They opened the parrels and lt hud the grub 
out," and it was sandwiches, and jam tarts 
packed face to face, and raspberries in a card- 



that sloped pleasantly to the willow-fringed 
edge of the River Med way Charlotte said ; — 

li You tvere invisible to him. That's the 
magic. Perhaps you'll believe in spells 

M But there wasn't any spell/' said Rupert, 
impatiently. And the girls said, with one 
voice, i£ You take off your blazer and see ! " 

" 1 hate hanky-panky/' said Rupert, but 
he took off his coat* 

" Lookj in there," said Caroline, turning 
back that loose fold which the buttonholes 

board box that had once held chocolates — 
that was in Rupert's parcel — and biscuits 
and large wedges of that pleasant, solid cake 
which you still get sometimes in old-fashioned 
houses where baking-powder and self-raising 
flour are unknown. 

4L This is the first picnic we've ever had 
by ourselves. Don't you like it. Prince 
Rupert ? " 

Rupert's mouth was full of sandwich, He 
was understood to.sav that it was " all right," 

£t King Charles is gracefully pleased to like 




it," said Charles. " Boadicea had better 
pour out the Rhine wine, for it's a thirsty 

" Oh ! " said Boadicea, in stricken tones. 
" There isn't any ! " 

And there wasn't. Not a drop of milk or 
water or ginger-beer or anything drinkable. 
No nephew or niece of Aunt Emmeline's was 
likely to do anything so rash as drinking 
water from a strange river to which it had 
not been properly introduced, so there was 
nothing to be done but to eat the raspberries 
and pretend that raspberries quenched thirst 
— which, as you probably know too well, they 

This was why, when they had eaten every- 
thing there was to eat, and buried the bits of 
paper deeply in a hollow tree so as not to spoil 
the pretty picture of grey-green willows and 
blue-green water and grass-green grass, they 
set out to find a cottage where ginger-beer 
was sold. There was such a cottage, and 
they had passed it on the way. It had a neat, 
gay little garden, and a yellow rose clamber- 
ing over its porch, and on one of its red-brick 
sides was a pear tree that went up the wall 
with level branches like a double ladder, and 
on the other a deep blue iron plate which said 
in plain white words, " Batey's Minerals." 
A stranger from Queen Victoria's early days 
might have supposed this to mean that the 
cottage had a small museum of geological 
specimens, such as you find now and then in 
Derbyshire, but Rupert and the three C.'s 
knew that " Minerals " was just short for 
ginger-beer and the other things that fizz. 

So, after making sure that they had not 
lost their two shillings and sixpence, they 
unlatched the white gate and went in. 

The front door, which was green and had 
no knocker, was open, and one could see 
straight into the cottage's front parlour. It 
was very neat and oilclothy, with sea-shells 
on pink wool mats and curly glass vases and 
a loud, green-faced clock on the mantelpiece. 
There was a horsehair sofa and more white 
crochet antimacassars than you would have 
thought possible, even in the most respectable 
seaside lodgings. A black and white cat was 
asleep in the sun, hedged in among the pots of 
geraniums that filled the window. In fact, 
it was a very clean example of the cottage 
homes of England, how beautiful they stand ! 

The thirsty children waited politely as 
long as they could bear to wait, and then 
Caroline tip- toed across the speckless brown- 
and-blue linoleum and tapped at the inner 
door. Nothing happened. So she pushed 
the door, which was ajar, a little more open 

and looked through it. Then she turned, 
shook her head, made a baffling sign to the 
others to stay where they were, and went 
through the door and shut it after her. 

The others waited ; the sign Caroline had 
made was a secret only used in really serious 

" I expect there's a bird in there and she 
wants to catch it," said Charles, but the others 
could not believe this, and they were right. 

Quite soon Caroline returned, bearing a 
wrinkled black tray with three bottles of 
lemonade, three glasses, and a little round 
wooden thing that you press the glass marble 
down with into the neck of the bottle. 

" Here," she said in a hurry, " you go round 
to the other side of the cottage, and there's a 
hornbeam arbour and a bench and a table, 
and you're very welcome to sit there. I'll 
tell you all about it afterwards," she added, 
whispering. " Only do take it and go." 

" But what is it ? " Rupert asked. 

" She's crying dreadfully. I don't know 
what it is yet. Oh, do go I " 

And she thrust the tray on him and went 
back through the door with an air of import- 
ance which even the other C.'s found just a 
little trying. However, they were thirsty 
and loyal, so they did as they were asked to 
do ; found the hornbeam arbour, and settled 
down on the blue-painted benches to drink 
their lemonade and tell each other how thirsty 
they had been, drawing deep breaths between 
the draughts to say so with. 

Caroline, in the meantime, was in the back 
kitchen of the strange cottage, gently patting 
the shoulder of a perfect stranger who sat 
with her elbows on the mangle and her head 
in her hands, crying, crying, crying. 

" Don't ! Oh, please don't ! " said Caroline, 
again and again ; and again and again the 
woman who was crying said, " Go away. I 
can't attend to you. Go away ! " 

She was a middle-aged woman, and her 
dark hair, streaked with grey, was screwed up 
behind in a tight knob. Her sleeves were 
tucked up, and all round her were piles of 
those square boxes with wooden divisions in 
which lemonade and ginger-beer travel about. 
The boxes v/c/e dotted with greeny bottles, 
some full, some empty, and the boxes were 
everywhere — on the sink, under the sink, on 
the copper, on the bricks, and outside the 
open back door. 

" Don't cry," said Caroline, in a voice that 
would have soothed an angry bear. " Do tell 
me what's the matter. I might be able to 
help you." nLnaJfrojn 




to dry her eyes with the corner of a blue- 
checked apron. '* You .seem a kind little 
gel, but it ain't no good- Run along* 

" But," said Caroline, " if you don't stop 
crying, how am I going to pay you for the 
lemonade I took when you said I might ? 
Three bottles it was," 

u Sixpence," said the woman, sniffing. 

4t You poor dear," said Carol ine, and put 
her arms round the woman's neck, " Now," 
she $aid ? comfortably, "yon just fancy I'm 

your own litlle girl 
and tell me whit's 
the matter." 

The woman turned 
her face and kissed 

" Bless you for a 
sillv liLtle duck," she 
said, "My own little 
gel's in service over 
Tonbridge way. It's 
silly of me taking 
en like that. But it 
come so sudden/' 

What did?" 
Caroline asked, " Do 
tel! me. Perhaps I 
can help, I've got 
auurvle,and 1 know 
he'd give me some 
money for you, if 
that's it. And, 
besides, I can make 
nice things happen 
sometimes* I reallv 

w It isn't money/' 
said the woman, 
drearily, " and I 
don't know why 
I should tell you,' 1 

" It eases the 
heart, you know," 
said Caroline; " my 
aunt says it does. 
Do tell me. I'm so 
sorry you're un- 

" You wouldn't 
understand/ 7 said 
the woman, drying 
her eyes. " It's 
silly, I know. But 
I only heard this 
morning, and just 
now it all come over 
me when I was sort- 
ing out the bottles. I was born in the little 
house j you see, and lived here all my lite. And 
now to lea%T ! A week's notice, too ! Where'm 
I to go to? How'm I to manage? What'm 
I to get my living by ? You see, being right 
on the high road I get all the thirsty customers 
as they comes by + Where'm I to go to? 
There's a cottage back by Wright's farm ; 
ne'er a bit of garden to it t and nobody passes 
it one year's end to another. I'd never sell 
a single bottle if I lived there to b? a 
hundred T ^riginalfrom 




41 But why must you leave here ? " Caroline 

"Gentlefolks," said the woman, bitterly; 
" got a grand 'ouse of their own up in London. 
But they gone and took a fancy to my little 
bit, cause it looks so pretty with the flowers 
I planted, and the arbour my father made, 
and the roses as comes from mother's brother 
in Cambridgeshire. 

" * Such a sweet, pretty cottage to stay in 
for week-ends/ they says ; an' / may go to 
the Union and stay there, week in, week out, 
and much they care. There's something like it 
in the Bible, only there ain't no prophets now 
like there was of old to go and rebuke the folks 
that takes away poor folks' vineyards and 
lambs and things to make week-end cottages 
of. And, of course, they can pay for their 
fancy. An' it comes a bit 'ard, my dear. 
An' that's all. So now you know." 

" But that's dreadful," said Caroline ; " the 
landlord must be a very wicked man." 

" It ain't 'is doing," said the woman, sorting 
bottles swiftly ; " 'e's but a lad when all's 
said and done. Comes of age in a week or 
two. Ain't never been 'is own master yet, so 
to say. It's 'is cousin as manages the pro- 
perty. 'E's got it into 'is 'ead to screw 
another shilling or two out of us somehow ; 
'ere, there, and everywhere, as they say. To 
pay for the harches and the flags when milord 
comes of age, I suppose. Now you see you 
can't do anything, so run along, lovey. 
You're a good little gel to trouble about it, 
and you're the only one as has. It'll come 
home to you all right, never fear. Kind 
words is never lost, nor acts neither. Good 
day to you, missy." 

" Good-bye," said Caroline ; " but I'm not 
so sure that I can't do anything. I'll ask my 
uncle. Perhaps he knows my lord, whoever 
it is." 

" Andor," said the woman ; " but nobody 
don't know him about here. He's been 
abroad for his education, being weak in the 
chest from a child. But it ain't no good, 
dearie. I'll 'ave to go, same as other folks 'as 
'ad to go afore me." 

" I shall think of something, you see if I 
don't," said Caroline. " I've got an aunt as 
well as an uncle, and she says you can make 
things happen. You just keep on saying, 
1 Everything's going to be all right. I'm 
not going to worry.' And then everything 
will be all right. You'll see. And I'll come 

again to-morrow or next daw Good-bye, 

She kissed the woman, paid the sixpence, 
and went out to the hornbeam arbour with 
the air of one who has a mission. 

" Come on," she said, " I'll tell you as we 
go along. No, I'm not thirsty now. Oh, 
well, if you've saved some for me. That was 
jolly decent of you." She drank. " Now," 
she said, " there's not a moment to be lost ; 
it's a matter of life and death to the mineral 
woman. Come on." 

And as they went back along the dusty 
road she told them what -had happened. 

" I must ask the uncle at once if he knows 
Lord Andor," she said ; " and he can tele- 
graph to him like he did to India, and then 
everything will be all right." 

" But," said Charlotte, " we promised we 
wouldn't disturb him for anything. Suppose 
he doesn't appear at tea ? " 

" Then we must do something else," said 
Caroline. . " It's the realest thing I've ever 
had the chance of doing, except you, Rupert," 
she added, politely ; " and if we can't get at 
the uncle we'll try a spell. Every single 
spell we've tried has come right. First the 
fern-seed ; then the " 

" Yes, I know," said Rupert, hastily, 
" and it's all right to play at. But this is a 
real thing. I've got a godfather that's a 
baronet. I'll write to him to go to the House 
of Lords and tell this Lord Andor. How's 
that ? " 

" Yes, do," said Charlotte ; "but we'll work 
the spell as well. We may as well have two 
strings to our harp, like that blind girl in the 
picture. What spell can we do ? " 

" We'll look it up in the books," Caroline 
said, importantly ; " and, Rupert, if we 
pull it off and she doesn't get turned out 
of her house, you will believe the spell, 
won't you ? " 

" I'll try," said Rupert, cautiously ; " and, 
anyway, I'll write to my godfather. Only he's 
in Norway. I'd better telegraph, perhaps ? " 

41 It'll cost pounds, won't it ? " said Charles, 

" Never mind," said Rupert, carelessly. 
" Mrs. Wilmington will lend me the chink 
till I get my allowance. Let's do the thing 
properly while we're about it. You may as 
well be hanged for a sheep as " 

" As a cow. Yes, indeed," said Charlotte, 
with approval. 

(To be continued.) 



\We shall be glad to receive Contributions to this section f and to pay far such as are accepted.] 

inferno of boiling springs, geysers, and sol fa hints. 
The police regulation against promiscuous bathing of 
the sexes is not verv rigidly observed in these remote 
districts, and the advent of one of the representatives 
of the law is heralded by a rush for the usually discarded 
garments. — Mr. Lumen Ho|me t Yokohama, Japan* 


HERE is a snaps! lot of the hippopotamus and 
keeper at the Alipore Z*xj„ taken shortly before 
the man was killed by the animal* Budhu Chamar, 
the keeper, was in the habit of irritating the animal, 
in order to make it open its capacious mouth for the 
inspection of visitors* The man may be noticed hold- 
ing one of the teeth, and the hippo is endeavouring to 
get rid of him* One day, however* Budhu played with 
edged tools once too often, and the animal attacked 
and killed him.— Mr. H. Cow lev, 5, Hartford Lane* 

* I ^HIS novel form of bathing is in vogue at the 
1 mountain -spa of Noboribetsu, in the Is hind of 
Yezo, Japan* The steaming hot water is conveyed in 
bamboo pipes direct from an old volcano, the wall ol 
whose crater has been broken down on the side next 
the village, so that in a few minutes one ran pass I mm 
the tittle collection of wond-nnd- paper huts into an 


[THINK your readers will be interested in these 
two photographs of stage robberies which occurred 
on 1 he road to Yosemite Valley, California, At the 
time of the first one, in August, 1905, one of the pas- 
sengers, endowed with great presence of mind, asked 
the highwayman if he would allow his picture to be 
taken* Doubtless possessing great nerve, he replied 
in the affirmative. He took care, though* to make 
the passengers turn away from him and hold their hands 
behind their backs. The following year, when die 
stage was again held up f this incident was remembered 
by one of the tourists, who obtained the second picture 
of the bandit. After each robbery he was tracked by 
his footprints for a considerable distance* but each 
time they led to a grain- field and then disappeared. 
Some two years later there was found under a tree in 
that locality a rude wooden contrivance which could 
be fastened to the bottom of one's shoe. The fore- 
part was carved to imitate a horseshoe, and on the rear 
was fastened a sardine -tin* This explained the dis- 
appearance of the footprints in the grain-held. Mr. 
P* E, Otey% c/o Western Metropolis National Bank, 
S-»n Krnncj^co, California, U.S.A. 





YOU recently published in The Strand Magazine 
a portrait of a lady drawn in one continuous 
line, I now venture to send you a mAine T or dot, por- 
trait^ or it may be called a " half-tone tp picture drawn 
by hand. I may add that, although the result is not 
quite so clear as in the one- line picture, it requires a 
very peat deal of patience and perseverance to produce 
i picture in this way at all. — Mr. R. J. Brothers, 
Woodcote, Ash ford, Kent. 


I THINK one may safely say that nine out of ten 
people would never guess what the following 
photograph represents. It shows the bottom of a 
steamer covered with an extraordinary growth of 
barnacles , which looked like so many hundred icicles, 
the average length of them being fourteen inches* 
This growth was the result of three months' enforced 
idleness in Port Said Harbour, —Mr. L. J. Edwards, 
Third Officer, P. and O. ss. Malta. 

" I MiE accompanying 
1 photograph shows 
the suit I wore as the 
Button King at a fancy- 
dress skating carnival at 
the Finsbury Park Rink a 
few months ago. The 
number of buttons used 
to decorate the suit was 
17,983, and their cost 
32S, 6d +T while the weight 
of the whole was seventeen 
pounds. As may be ima- 
gined, the task of sewing 
on the buttons was no 
light one, and occupied 
273 hours. — Mr* A, H. 
Woods, 16, Sheen Grove, 
Richmond Road, Barns - 
bury, N. 

I AM sending you a 
photograph of the 

ringed leg of a stork which 

I picked up dead on 

December 31st, 1 910, at the farm of Chief Dalinyebo, 

near the Bashee River. On reading the inscription 

on the ring, I wrote 
to the headquarters 
of the Ornithological 
Society, Budapest, 
and received from 
the director* Mr. 
Otto Herman, the 
following informa- 
tion : '* Stork bear- 
ing ring No. 1938 
was tugged as an 
unfledged young on 
June 26th, 1910, at 
Be I lye, a place at 
the confluence of 
the rivers Drove 
and Danube;' This 
proves the bird to 
have arrived at the 
flying stage and 
rea ched Sou t h A f r i ca 
— a distance of over 

five thousand miles — in six months. Photograph bv 

Mr. G- W. Straton, of t'mbata.— Mr. E, T. Ball, 

Tonlt Sawmills South Africa. 


SEVERAL years ago I came across this unsolved 
riddle, h is supposed to have been invented 
by a bishop, who, unfortunately, died before giving 
the answer. Possibly some of The Strand reader* 
may discover the solution : — 
" I'm the sweetest of voices in orchestra heard, 
And yqf. in an orchestra never have been ; 
I'm a bird of bright plumage, and less like a bird 
Nothing in Nature hus ever been seen. 
Touching earth r expire, in w-atcr I die, 
In air I lose lift; — yet I swim and I fly. 
Darkness destroys me and light is my death : 
You can*": keep me alive but by stopping my breath. 
If my name can't be guessed by a boy or a man, 
By a girl or a woman it certainly can I " 
—Miss E. M. Leadman, 4, Kent Bank Road, Buxton. 



("""rw^nL'' Original from 




(See page 127,; 

by GoOgic 

Original from 


One Crowded Hour. 


Illustrated ty H. M. Brock, R.L 


HE place was the Eastboume- 
Tunbridge road, not very far 
from the Cross in Hand — a 
lonely stretch, with a heath 
running upon either side. 
The time was half- past eleven 
upon a Sunday night in the 
late summer. A motor was passing slowly 
down the road* 

It was a long, lean Rolls-Royce, running 
smoothly with a gentle purring of the engine. 
Through the two vivid circles cast by the 
electric head-lights the waving grass fringes 
and clumps of heather streamed swiftly like 
some golden cinematograph, leaving a blacker 
darkness behind and around them. One 
ruby-red spot shone upon the road, but no 
number-plate was visible within the dim 
ruddy halo of the tail-lamp which cast it. 
The car was open and of a tourist type, but 
even in that obscure light , for the night was 

VoL xliL— 10, Copyright, 191 1, by 

moonless, an observer could hardly fail to 
have noticed a curious indefiniteness in its 
lines. As it slid into and across the broad 
stream of light from an open cottage door 
the reason could be seen. The body was 
hung with a singular loose arrangement of 
brown holland. Even the long black bonnet 
was banded with some close-drawn drapery. 
The solitary man who drove this curious 
car was broad and burly. He sat hunched 
up over his steering-wheel, with the brim of a 
Tyrolean hat drawn down over his eyes. The 
red end of a cigarette smouldered under the 
black shadow thrown by the headgear- A 
dark ulster of some frieze-like material was 
turned up in the collar until it covered his 
ears. His neck was pushed forward from his 
rounded shoulders, and he seemed, as the car 
now slid noiselessly down the long, sloping 
road, with the clutch disengaged arid the 
engine running freej to be peering ahead of 

Arthur Conan DojSriginal frOFTl 




him through the darkness in search of some 
eagerly-expected object. 

The distant toot of a motor-horn came 
faintly from some point far to the south of 
him. On such a night, at such a place, all 
traffic must be from south to north when the 
current of London week-enders sweeps back 
from the watering-place to the capital — from 
pleasure to duty. The man sat straight and 
listened intently. Yes, there it was again, 
and certainly to the south of him. His face 
was over ihe wheel and his eyes strained 
through the darkness. Then suddenly he 
spat out his cigarette and gave a sharp intake 
of the breath. Far away down the road two 
little yellow points had rounded a curve. 
They vanished into a dip, shot upwards once 
more, and then vanished again. The inert 
man in the draped car woke suddenly into 
intense life. From his pocket he pulled a 
mask of dark cloth, which he fastened securely 
across his face, adjusting it carefully that his 
sight might be unimpeded. For an instant 
he uncovered an acetylene hand-lantern, took 
a hasty glance at his own preparations, and 
laid it beside a Mauser pistol upon the seat 
alongside him. Then, twitching his hat down 
lower than ever, he released his clutch and 
slid downward his gear-lever. With a chuckle 
and shudder the long, black machine sprang 
forward, and shot with a soft sigh from her 
powerful engines down the sloping gradient. 
The driver stooped and switched off his 
electric head-lights. Only a dim grey swathe 
cut through the black heath indicated the 
line of his road. From in front there came 
presently a confused puffing and rattling and 
clanging as the oncoming car breasted the 
slope. It coughed and spluttered on a power- 
ful, old-fashioned low gear, while its engine 
throbbed like a weary heart. The yellow, 
glaring lights dipped for the last time into a 
switchback curve. When they reappeared 
over the crest the two cars were within thirty 
yards of each other. The dark one darted 
across the road and barred the other's passage, 
while a warning acetylene lamp was waved 
in the air. With a jarring of brakes the noisy 
new-comer was brought to a halt. 

" I say," cried an aggrieved voice, " 'pon 
my soul, you know, we might have had an 
accident. Why the devil don't you keep 
your head-lights on ? I never saw you till 
I nearly burst my radiators on you ! " 

The acetylene lamp, held forward, dis- 
covered a very angry young man, blue-eyed, 
yellow-moustached, and florid, sitting alone 
at the wheel of an antiquated twelve-horse 
Wolseley. Suddenly the aggrieved look upon 


his flushed face changed to one of absolute 
bewilderment. The driver in the dark car 
had sprung out of the seat, a black, long- 
barrelled, wicked-looking pistol was poked 
in the traveller's face, and behind the further 
sights of it was a circle of black cloth with 
two deadly eyes looking from as many slits. 

" Hands up ! " said a quick, stern voice. 
" Hands up ! or, by the Lord " 

The young man was as brave as his neigh- 
bours, but the hands went up all the same. 

" Get down ! " said his assailant, curtly. 

The young man stepped forth into the road, 
followed closely by the covering lantern and 
pistol. Once he made as if he would drop 
his hands, but a short, stern word jerked them 
up again. 

".I say, look here, this is rather out o' date, 
ain't it ? " said the traveller. " I expect 
you're joking — what ? " 

" Your watch," said the man behind the 
Mauser pistol. 

" You can't really mean it ! " 

" Your watch, I say ! " 

" Well, take it, if you must. It's only 
plated, anyhow. You're two centuries out 
in time, or a few thousand miles longitude. 
The bush is your mark — or America. You 
don't seem in the picture on a Sussex road." 

" Purse," said the man. There was some- 
thing very compelling in his voice and methods. 
The purse was handed over. 

" Any rings ? " 

" Don't wear 'em." 

" Stand there ! Don't move ! " 

The highwayman passed his victim and 
threw open the bonnet of the Wolseley. His 
hand, with a pair of steel pliers, was thrust 
deep into the works. There was the snap of 
a parting wire. 

" Hang it all, don't crock my car ! " cried 
the traveller. 

He turned, but quick as a flash the pistol 
was at his head once more. And yet even 
in that flash, whilst the robber whisked 
round from the broken circuit, something had 
caught the young man's eye which made him 
gasp and start. He opened his mouth as if 
about to shout some words. Then with an 
evident effort he restrained himself. 

" Get in," said the highwayman. 

The traveller climbed back to his seat. 

" What is your name ? " 

" Ronald Barker. What's yours ? " 

The masked man ignored the impertinence. 

" Where do you live ? " he asked. 

" My cards are in my purse. Take one." 

The highwayman sprang into his car, the 
engine of which had hissed and whispered in 
Original from 



gentle accompaniment to the interview. With 
a clash he threw back his side- brake, flung in 
his gears, twirled the wheel hard round, and 
cleared the motionless Wolseley. A minute 
later he was gliding swiftly, with all his lights 
gleaming, some half-mile southward on the 
road, while Mr, Ronald Barker, a side- lamp 
in his hand, was rummaging furiously among 
the odds and ends of his repair -box for a 
strand of wire which would connect up his 
electricity and set him on his way once more. 
When he had placed a safe distance between 

way man were less furtive, Experience had 
clearly given htm confidence, With lights 
still blazing, he ran towards the new-comers, 
and, halting in the middle of the road, sum- 
moned them to stop. From the point of view 
of the astonished travellers the result was 
sufficiently impressive. They saw in the glare 
of their own head-lights two glowing discs on 
either side of the long, black -muzzled snout 
of a high -power car, and above the masked 
face and menacing figure of its solitary driver. 
In the golden circle thrown by the rover there 


himself and his victim, the adventurer eased 
up, took his booty from his pockety replaced 
the watch, opened the purse, and counted out 
the money. Seven shillings constituted the 
miserable spoil. The poor result of his efforts 
seemed to amuse rather than annoy him, for 
he chuckled as he held the two half-crowns 
and the florin in the glare of his lantern. Then 
suddenly his manner changed. He thrust the 
thin purse back into his pocket, released his 
brake, and shot onwards with the same tense 
bearing with which he had started upon his 
adventure* The lights of another car were 
coming down the road. 
On this occasion the methods of the high- 


stood an elegant, open- topped, twenty-horse 
Humber, with an undersized and very 
astonished chauffeur blinking from under his 
peaked cap. From behind the wind-screen 
the veil-bound hats and wondering faces of 
two very pretty young women protruded, one 
upon either side, and a little crescendo of 
frightened squeaks announced the acute 
emotion of one of them, The other was cooler 
and more critical, 

11 Don't give it away, Hilda," she whispered, 
" Do shut up, and don't be such a silly. 
It's Bertie or one of the boys playing it 
on us," 

41 NOj no ! It's the real thing, Flossie, It's 




a Tobber, sure enough* Oh, my goodness., 
whatever shall we do ? " 

" What an ' ad/ ! " cried the other, " Oh, 
what a glorious l ad. J ! Too late now for the 
mornings ; but they'll have it In every 
evening paper, sure," 

" What's it going to cost ? " groaned the 
other. " Oh, Flossie, Flossie, I'm sure Fm 
going to faint ! Don't you think if we both 
screamed together we could do some good ? 
Isn't he too awful with that black thing over 
his face ? Oh, dear, oh, dear 1 He's killing 
poor little Alf ! " 

notes since the previous interview. " May I 
ask who you are ? " 

Miss Hilda was beyond coherent speech, 
but Miss Flossie was of a sterner mould. 

" This is a pretty business/' said she. 
" What right have you to stop us on the 
public road j I should like to know ? " 

" My time is short/' said the robber, in a 
sterner voice. tl I must ask you to answer 
my question," 

" Tell him , Flossie ! For goodness* sake 
be nice to him ! " cried Hilda. 

" Well j we're from the Gaiety Theatre, 


The proceedings of the robber were indeed 
somewhat alarming, Springing down from 
his car, he had pulled the chauffeur out of his 
seat by the scruff of his neck. The sight of 
the Mauser had cut short all remonstrance, 
and under its compulsion the little man had 
pulled open the bonnet and extracted the 
sparking-plugs, Having thus secured the 
immobility of his capture, the masked man 
walked forward, lantern in hand, to the side of 
the car. He had laid aside the gruff sternness 
with which he had treated Mr. Ronald 
Barker, and his voice and manner wen. 1 gentle, 
though determined. He even raised his hat 
as a prelude to his address, 

il I am sorry to inconvenience you ? ladies/ 1 
aid he, and his voice had gone up several 

by L^OOgle 

London , if you want to know/ 1 said the young 
lady. " Perhaps you've heard of Miss Flossie 
Thornton and Miss Hilda Man ne ring ? We've 
been playing a week at the Royal at 
Eastbourne, and took a Sunday off to our- 
selves. So now you know ! " 

" I must ask you for your purses and for 
your jewellery/' 

Both ladies set up shrill expostulations, 
but they found, as Mr. Ronald Barker had 
done, that there was something quietly com- 
pelling in this man's methods- Fn a very few 
minutes they had handed over their purses, 
and a pile of glittering rings, bangles, brooches, 
and chains was lying upon the front seat of 
the car. The diamonds glowed and shim- 
mered like little electric points in the light of 
Original from 




the lantern. He picked up the glittering 
tangle and weighed it in his hand. 

" Anything you particularly value ? " he 
Asked the ladies ; but Miss Flossie was in 
no humour for concessions. 

" Don't come the Claude Duval over us," 
said she ; " take the lot or leave the lot. We 
don't want bits of our own given back to 

" Except just Billy's necklace ! " cried 
Hilda, and snatched at a little rope of pearls. 
The robber bowed, and released his hold of it. 

" Anything else ? " 

The valiant Flossie began suddenly to cry. 
Hilda did the same. The effect upon the 
robber was surprising. He threw the whole 
heap of jewellery into the nearest lap. 

" There ! there ! Take it ! " he said. " It's 
trumpery stuff, anyhow. It's worth some- 
thing to you, and nothing to me." 

Tears changed in a moment to smiles. 

" You're welcome to the purses. The 
ad. is worth ten times the money. But 
what a funny way of getting a living nowa- 
days ! Aren't you afraid of being caught ? 
It's all so wonderful, like a scene from a 

" It may be a tragedy," said the robber. 

" Oh, I hope not — I'm sure I hope not ! " 
cried the two ladies of the drama. 

But the jobber was in no mood for further 
conversation. Far away down the road tiny 
points of light had appeared. Fresh business 
was coming to him, and he must not mix his 
cases. Disengaging his machine, he raised 
his hat, and slipped off to meet this new 
arrival, while Miss Flossie and Miss Hilda 
leaned out of their derelict car, still palpitating 
from their adventure, and watched the red 
gleam of the tail-light until it merged in the 

This time there was every sign of a rich 
prize. Behind its four grand lamps set in a 
broad frame of glittering brasswork the mag- 
nificent sixty-horse Daimler breasted the 
slope with the low, deep, even snore which 
proclaimed its enormous latent strength. 
Like some rich-laden, high-pooped Spanish 
galleon, she kept her course until the prowling 
craft ahead of her swept across her bows and 
brought her to a sudden halt. An angry 
face, red, blotched, and evil, shot out of the 
open window of the closed limousine. The 
robber was aware of a high, bald forehead, 
gross pendulous cheeks, and two little crafty 
eyes which gleamed between creases of fat. 

11 Out of my way, sir ! Out of my way 

this instant ! " cried a rasping voice. " Drive 

over him, Hearn ! Get down and pull him 

Digitized by V^OOQ IC 

off the seat. The fellow's drunk — he's drunk 
I say ! " 

Up to this point the proceedings of the 
modern highwayman might have passed as 
gentle. Now they turned in an instant to 
savagery. The chauffeur, a burly, capable 
fellow, incited by that raucous voice behind 
him, sprang from the car and seized the 
advancing robber by the throat. The latter 
hit out with the butt-end of his pistol, and 
the man dropped groaning on the road. 
Stepping over his prostrate body the adven- 
turer pulled open the door, seized the stout 
occupant savagely by the ear, and dragged 
him bellowing on to the highway. Then, 
very deliberately, he struck him twice across 
the face with his open hand. The blows rang 
out like pistol-shots in the silence of the night. 
The fat traveller turned a ghastly colour and 
fell back half senseless against the side of the 
limousine. The robber dragged open his 
coat, wrenched away the heavy gold watch- 
chain with all that it held, plucked out the 
great diamond pin that sparkled in the black 
satin tie, dragged off four rings — not one 
of which could have cost less than three 
figures — and finally tore from his inner pocket 
a bulky leather note-book. All this property 
he transferred to his own blacjc overcoat, and 
added to it the man's pearl cuff-links, and 
even the golden stud which held his collar. 
Having made sure that there was nothing 
else to take, the robber flashed his lantern 
upon the prostrate chauffeur, and satisfied 
himself that he was stunned and not dead. 
Then, returning to the master, he proceeded 
very deliberately to tear all his clothes from 
his body with a ferocious energy which set 
his victim whimpering and writhing in immi- 
nent expectation of murder. 

Whatever his tormentor's intention may 
have been, it was very effectually frustrated. 
A sound made him turn his head, and there, 
no very great distance off, were the lights of 
a car coming swiftly from the north. Such a 
car must have already passed the wreckage 
which this pirate had left behind him. It 
was following his track with a deliberate 
purpose, and might be crammed with every 
county constable of the district. 

The adventurer had no time to lose. He 
darted from his bedraggled victim, sprang 
into his own seat, and with his foot on the 
accelerator shot swiftly off down the road. 
Some way down there was a narrow side lane, 
and into this the fugitive turned, cracking 
on his high speed and leaving a good five 
miles between him and any pursuer before he 
ventured to stop. Then ( in a quiet corner, he 




counted over his booty of the evening — the 
paltry plunder of Mr. Ronald Barker, the 
rather better-furnished purses of the actresses, 
which contained four pounds between them, 
and, finally, the gorgeous jewellery and well- 
filled note-book of the plutocrat upon the 
Daimler. Five notes of fifty pounds, four of 
ten, fifteen sovereigns, and a number of 
valuable papers made up a most noble haul 

finished his breakfast in a leisurely fashion 
strolled down to his study with the intention 
of writing a few letters before setting forth 
to take his place upon the county bench. 
Sir Henry was a Deputy-Lieutenant of the 
county ; he was a baronet of ancient blood ; 
he was a magistrate of ten years' standing; 
and he was famous above all as the breeder 
of many a good horse and the most desperate 


It was clearly enough for one night's work. 
The adventurer replaced all his ill-gotten 
gains in his pocket, and, lighting a cigarette, 
set forth upon his way with the air of a man 
who nas no further care upon his mind, 

It was on the Monday morning following 
upon this eventful evening that Sir Henry 
Hailworthy, of Walcot Old Place, having 

rider in all the Weald country. A tall, 
upstanding man, with a strong, clean-shaven 
fate, heavy black eyebrows, and a square, 
resolute jaw, he was one whom it was better 
to call friend than foe. Though nearly fifty 
years of age, he bore no sign of having passed 
his youth, save that Nature, in one of her 
freakish rnoo^, had planted one little feather 
of whit^J^^ppj^^s right ear^ making the 




rest of his thick black curls- the darker by 
contrast. He was in thoughtful mood this 
morning, for having lit his pipe he sat at his 
desk with his blank note-paper in front of 
him, lost in a deep reverie. 

Suddenly his thoughts were brought back 
to the present. From behind the laurels of 
the curving drive there came a low, clanking 
sound, which swelled into the clatter and 
jingle of an ancient car. Then from round the 
corner there swung an old-fashioned Wolseley, 
with a fresh-complexioned, yellow-mous- 
tached young man at the wheel. Sir Henry 
sprang to his feet at the sight, and then sat 
down once more. He rose again as a minute 
later the footman announced Mr. Ronald 
Barker. It was an early visit, but Barker 
was Sir Henry's intimate friend. As each 
was a fine shot, horseman, and billiard- 
player, there was much in common between 
the two men, and the younger (and poorer) 
was in the habit of spending at least two even- 
ings a week at Walcot Old Place. Therefore, 
Sir Henry advanced cordially with out- 
stretched hand to welcome him. 

" You're an early bird this morning," said 
he. " What's up ? If you are going over 
to Lewes we could motor together." 

But the younger man's demeanour was 
peculiar and ungracious. He disregarded the 
hand which was held out to him, and he stood 
pulling at his own long moustache and staring 
with troubled, questioning eyes at the county 

" Well, what's the matter ? " asked the 

Still the young man did not speak. He was 
clearly on the edge of an interview which he 
found it most difficult to open. His host 
grew impatient. 

" You don't seem yourself this morning. 
What on earth is the matter ? Anything 
upset you ? " 

" Yes," said Ronald Parker, with emphasis. 

" What has ? " 

11 You have." j 

Sir Henry smiled. " Sit down, my dear 
fellow. If you have any grievance against 
me, let me hear it." 

Barker sat down. He seemed to be gather- 
ing himself for a reproach. When it did come 
it was like a bullet from a gun. 

" Why did you rob me last night ? " 

The magistrate was a man of iron nerve. 
He showed neither surprise nor resentment. 
Not a muscle twitched upon his calm, set face. 

" Why do you say that I robbed you last 
night ? " 

" A big, tali fellow in a motor-car stopped 

VoL xlii— 17. 

Digitized by L^OOQle 

me on the Mayfield road. He poked a 
pistol in my face and took my purse and my 
watch. Sir Henry, that man was you." 

The magistrate smiled. 

" Am I the only big, tall man in the dis- 
trict ? Am I the only man with a motor- 
car ? " 

" Do you think I couldn't tell a Rolls-Royce 
when I see it — I, who spend half my life on a 
car and the other half under it ? Who has 
a Rolls-Royce about here except you ? " 

" My dear Barker, don't you think that 
such a modern highwayman as you describe 
would be more likely to operate outside his 
own district ? How many hundred Rolls- 
Royces are there in the South of England ? " 

""No, it won't do, Sir Henry — it won't do ! 
Even your voice, though you sunk it a few 
notes, was familiar enough to me. But hang 
it, man ! What did you do it for ? That's 
what gets over me. That you should stick 
up me, one of your closest friends, a man that 
worked himself to the bone when you stood 
for the division — and all for the sake of a 
Brummagem watch and a few shillings — is 
simply incredible." 

" Simply incredible," repeated the magis- 
trate, with a smile. 

" And then those actresses, poor little 
devils, who have to earn all they get. I 
followed you down the road, you see. That 
was a dirty trick, if ever I heard one. The 
City shark was different. If a chap must go 
a-robbing, that sort of fellow is fair game. 
But your friend, and then the girls — well, 
I say again, I couldn't have believed it." 

" Then why believe it ? " 

" Because it is so." 

" Well, you seem to have persuaded your- 
self to that effect. You don't seem to have 
much evidence to lay before anyone else." 

" I could swear to you in a police-court. 
What put the lid on it was that when you were 
cutting my wire — and an infernal liberty it 
was ! — I saw that white tuft of yours sticking 
out from behind your mask." 

For the first time an acute observer might 
have seen some slight sign of emotion upon 
the face of the baronet. 

" You seem to have a fairly vivid imagina- 
tion," said he. 

His visitor flushed with anger. 

" See here, Hailworthy," said he, opening 
his hand and showing a small, jagged triangle 
of black cloth. " Do you see that ? It was 
on the ground near the car of the young 
women. You must have ripped it off as you 
jumped out from your seat. Now send for 
that heavy black driving-coat of yours. If 




you don't ring the bell I'll ring it myself, and 
we shall have it in- I'm going to see this 
thing through, and don't you make any mis- 
take about that" 

The baronet's answer was a surprising one. 
He rose , passed Barker's chair } and, walking 
over to the door, he locked it and placed the 
key in his pocket. 

threatening me, Hailworthy. I am going to 
do my duty 3 and you won't bluff me out 
of it." 

u I have no wish to bluff you. When I 
spoke of a tragedy I did not mean to you, 
What I meant was that there are some turns 
which this affair cannot be allowed to take- 
I have neither kith nor kin, but there is the 


1 You are going to see it through/' said he. 
u 111 lock you in until you do, Now we must 
have a straight talk, Barker, as man to man, 
and whether it ends in tragedy or not depends 
on you*" 

He had half-opened one of the drawers in 
his desk as he spoke. His visitor frowned in 

" You won't make matters any better by 




family honour, and some things are im- 

* fi It is late to talk like that." 

* l Well, perhaps it is ; but not too late. 
And now I have a good d^al to say to you. 
First of all ? you are quite right, and it was I 
who held you up last night on the Mayfield 

Lt But why on earth— ,J 

Original from 



11 All right. Let me tell it my own way. 
First I want you to look at these." He un- 
locked a drawer and he took out two small 
packages. " These were to be posted in 
London to-night. This one is addressed to 
you, and I may as well hand it over to you 
at once. It contains your watch and your 
purse. So, you see, bar your cut wire" you 
would have been none the worse for your 
adventure. This other packet is addressed 
to the young ladies of the Gaiety Theatre, and 
their properties are enclosed. I hcpe I have 
convinced you that I had intended full repara- 
tion in each case before you came to accuse 
me ? " 

11 Well ? " asked Barker. 

11 Well, we will now deal with Sir George 
Wilde, who is, as you may not know, the 
senior partner of Wilde and Guggendorf, the 
founders of the Ludgate Bank of infamous 
memory. His chauffeur is a case apart. 
You may take it from me, upon my word of 
honour, that I had plans for the chauffeur. 
But it is the master that I want to speak of. 
You know that I am not a rich man myself. 
I expect all the county knows that. When 
Black Tulip lost the Derby I was hard hit. 
And other things as well. Then I had a 
legacy of a thousand. This infernal bank 
was paying seven per cent, on deposits. I 
knew Wilde. 1 saw him. I asked him if it 
was safe. He said it was. I paid it in, and 
within forty-eight hours the whole thing went 
to bits. It came out before the Official 
Receiver that Wilde had , known for three 
months that nothing could save him. And 
yet he took all my cargo aboard his. sinking 
vessel. He was all right — confound him ! He 
had plenty besides. But I had lost all my 
money and no law could help me. Yet he 
had robbed me as clearly as one man could rob 
another. I saw him, and he laughed in my 
face. Told me to stick to Consols, and that 
the lesson was cheap at the price. So I just 
swore that, by hook or by crook, I would get 
level with him. I knew his habits, for I had 
made it my business to do so. I knew that 
he came back from Eastbourne on Sunday 
nights. I knew that he carried a good sum 
with him in his pccket-book. Well, it's my 

pocket-book now. Do you mean to tell me 
that I'm not morally justified in what I have 
done ? By the Lord, I'd have left the devil 
as bare as he left many a widow and orphan 
if I'd had the time ! " 

" That's all very well. But what about 
me ? What about the girls ? " 

" Have some common sense, Barker. Do 
you suppose that I could go and stick up this 
one personal enemy of mine and escape detec- 
tion ? It was impossible. I was bound to 
make myself out to be just a common robber 
who had run up against him by accident. So 
I turned myself loose on the high road and 
took my chance. As the devil would have 
it, the first man I met was yourself. I was 
a fool not to recognize that old ironmonger's 
store of yours by the row it made coming up 
the hill. When I saw you I could hardly 
speak for laughing. But I was bound to 
carry it through. The same with the actresses. 
I'm afraid I gave myself away, for I couldn't 
take their little fal-lals, but I had to keep up 
a show. Then came my man himself. There 
was no bluff about that. I was out to skin 
him, and I did. Now, Barker, what do you 
think of it all ? I had a pistol at your head 
last night, and, by George ! whether you 
believe it or not, you have one at mine this 
morning ! " 

The young man rose slowly, and with a 
broad smile he wrung the magistrate by the 

" Don't do it again. It's too risky," said 
he. " The swine would score heavily if you 
were taken." 

"'You're a good chap, Barker," said the 
magistrate. " No, I won't do it again, 
Who's the fellow who talks of ' one crowded 
hour of glorious life ' ? By George ! it's too 
fascinating. I had the time of my life ! 
Talk of fox-hunting ! No, I'll never touch 
it again, for it might get a grip of me." 

A telephone rang sharply upon the table, 
and the baronet put the receiver to his ear. 
As he listened he smiled across at his com- 

" I'm rather late this morning," said he, 
" and they are waiting for me to try some 
petty larcenies on the county bench." 

by Google 

Original from 

The Seaside of the 


Forecasts of Well-Known Artists. 

X Bond Street, in Regent 
Street, in Oxford Street, and 
in many shady nooks adja- 
cent, professors of history in 
the future sit hard at work, 
charging high fees and attract- 
ing many eager listeners. 
Some trace over the lines on their customers' 
hands with a little stick ; some stare into a 
glass ball and prattle fluently of all that is 
to come to pass ; some take notes of dates 
and consult the Nautical Almanac, divining 
from the relative positions of planets at a 
particular moment of the past what sort of 
wedding Miss Serena Jones is to experience 
in the future ; and others again are above 
all such superfluous toil ? and simply stare over 
their customers 1 heads and lecture. If one 
half j one quarter, even one tenth the number 
of professors of history in the past were to 
establish themselves in London to lecture on 
their branch of history, exactly that number 
of landlords would be disappointed of their 
first quarter's rent, and the bankruptcy 
returns of that same quarter would rise by 
the identical figure- From which the philo- 
sopher may perceive that the future is a deal 
more popular than the past ; and^ although 
it is from the experience of the past that the 
wise predict the future, most people would 
seem to prefer to pay somebody wiser than 
themselves to do the actual work of deduction. 
So we have had the vaticinations of the 
wise on all sorts of questions — the Future of 
Warfare, the Future of Electricity, the 
Cookery of the Future, the Metaphysical 
Ontology of the Future, But to The Strand 
Magazine has been reserved the glory of 
first offering a guess at the Seaside of the 
Future ; and not one guess only (that of the 
present writer) for we are privileged to 
present also the Revelations of Robinson 
— Heath Robinson, to be exact — the Bodings 



of Brock, the Horoscope of Hassallj the 
Sooth sayings of Starr Wood., the R ha fa- 
don^™; ies of Rene Bull, and the Rhapsodies 
of Rountree. 

Mr. Heath Robinson's prognostications are 
all for an increasingly decorous respectability 
and an extreme of personal comfort* We are 
to prepare for bathing-machines in the Gothic 
style, in the Chinese style, and in the classic 
Greek style, with pneumatic lyres and cur- 
tained windows and flower-pots in convenient 
positions. An ingenious adaptation of the 
angler's reel will be fitted to the front-door 
post to ki play ?J bathing children into safety 
when they grow T too venturesome. Decorous 
and butler-like attendants, in a tasteful com- 
bination of evening and bathing dress, will 
regulate the temperature of the water by 
curiously-simple and direct means ; and not 
only regulate its temperature, but scent it 
and soften it with patent powders from con- 
venient tins. There is nothing violent, 
nothing revolutionary or disturbing in the 
Robinsonian Revelation, except that the 
beach is swept bare of niggers and bun- 
sellers, and the visitors, it would seem, are 
expected to be vastly outnumbered by the 
attendants deputed to minister to their com- 
fort. From which we may conjecture that 
the Seaside of the Future will be a deal more 
Select and a vast lot more expensive. So 
that we are forewarned to begin to save up* 

But no doubt Mr, Robinson will allow us 
to supplement his suggestions with a few 
positive statements of our own. On the day 
when his system of warming and scenting the 
sad sea waves is inaugurated (and not an 
hour sooner) a corps of suitably- attired 
elderly laundresses will be ranged on the 
shore in case of rough weather, on the smallest 
approach of which, they will immediately 
proceed, with large flat-irons, made hot at 
the same fire that heats the kettles, to iron 
Original from 



* S3 

At the seaside of ihe future, according to Mr. W. Heath Robinson, 

by Google 

Original from 



Mr, H. M r Brock's idea of the seaside a few years hence. 

out the ocean to a proper and comfortable 
flatness : while a body of gentlemanly junior 
clerks will be at hand to supply sheets of the 
best blotting-p&per to all visitors who wish 
to bathe without experiencing the uncomfort- 
able wetness now inseparable from the pursuit- 
Mr. 13rock, on the other hand, predicts 
developments in a wholly different direction ; 
the seaside will became more and more 
popular rather than Select (with a capital), 
and the diversions of the holiday will follow 
the same course. New sports will be in- 
vented ; this, after all, is an easy prediction, 
for each new fair or exhibition brings us 
already new mechanical discomforts for 
which people gladly pay, whence we have 
Swooping the Swoop (if that is the right name). 
Fl imping the Flump, Bashing the Bang, and 
Winging the Wang. (As a fact, these names 
are quite new, and inventors may fit them 
with appropriate sports on a royalty basis,) 

Mr- Brock for bodes Splashing the Splosh 
and Walking the Waves, the latter a sport 
wherein at last the human biped achieves the 
triumph of travelling in two boats at once, 
" having a pair on " in the time-honoured 
manner of skates at the Serpentine — without, 

by Google 

let us hope, the aid of the gimlet. And yet 
there may be a difference of opinion, even 
about that, for one remembers well the 
thoroughgoing chair-and-gimlet merchant 
at that same Serpentine who, to the agonized 
howl of his victim, u Hi ! hi I you're driving 
it into my foot ! ,J cheerily answered, " Never 
mind, sir — better 'ave 'em on firm ! ,h And 
there is no disputing that the wave- walker 
of the future must " 'ave 'em on firm T1 if he is 
ever to come back and restore his boots as an 
honest sportsman should. He will also have 
to be careful of many other things ; he must 
keep scrupulously on the topside of his 
boats and he must avoid walking his waves 
on any spot where a splosh-splasher is likely 
to splash his splosh. With his airship trip 
round the lightship Mr. Brock is careful to 
prophesy what he knows; and, as for the 
rest, it is comforting to observe that the 
general stripiness of things at the seaside- 
tents, bathing-costumes, blinds, and pavilion- 
roofs — is to be maintained as bravely in the 
future as in the past* 

Mr. Hassall is more mysterious and less 
definite. Everything on shore will be so 
inordinately " improved " that the discreet 

Original from 



holiday-maker will demand facilities for 
staying in the sea as long as possible, away 
from it all. Extraordinary and elaborate 
long-distance swimming costumes will affright 
the ocean and its denizens, and even at the 
cost of such an appearance as Mr. Hassall 
depicts the nerve-racked toiler will endeavour 
to shut from his ears and eyes the blessings 
of civilization as they will exist in the future. 

in the Midlands may paddle at home and 
build castles with the sand driven by hydraulic 
pressure through another. Ozone will blow 
furiously through still another tube, as some 
sort of air of a totally different smell already 
blows furiously through the Tube which is 
called Tuppeny. Through still another pipe 
the resistless power of the immemorial sea 
will send electric force to light our houses, 

Mr. John Hassall's peep into the future. 

Indeed, only those who wish to swim away 
for days together out of sight and hearing of 
things as they will be will need to go to the 
seaside at all ; for all the advantages now 
sought in a coast holiday will be brought to 
one's house by " pipe-lines/' like petroleum. 
All the tubular pier-supports will be utilized 
for commercial purposes. Sea-water will 
be " laid on " through one, so that the dweller 

by Google 

ring our bells, grow our potatoes, cure our 
rheumatisms, and kill any absent-minded, 
person who catches hold of the wrong wire ; 
and through still one more such pipe, baited 
all the way along with patent indestructible 
rubber worms, a constant supply of fresh fish 
will pour into our kitchens, either alive, or, 
by a simple attachment of a wire from 
the electric supply, cooked to a turn and 


1 i 6 


swimming still, but now in oyster sauce. 
Periwinkles and whelks will be distributed 
throughout the East-end from one pipe, and 
the empty shells will be returned through 
another, to be refilled with " forced " inhabit- 
ants grown under electric stimulus and 
returned to the East-end once more, doubt- 
less, by aid of careful breeding, with pins 
attached for extraction. Thus the whelks and 
periwinkles will be humanely saved the labour 
of growing fresh shells, and the toiling millions 
of London will be provided with an inex- 
haustible supply of the aliment dearest to 
their palates t whereby the humblest will 
speedily achieve an indigestion equal to the 
severest now monopolized by the exclusive 

Mr. Rene Bull refreshes us vastly. He 
prophesies new things, as any sage must, but 
he gives us comforting assurance of the sur- 
vival of many old friends* An airship will 
take day-trippers to London and back at a 
very reasonable fare ; but niggers will still 
wear exaggerated hats and play banjos on 
the beach, A variant of Splashing the Splosh, 
in the form of a Toboggan Diving-board, will 
make perilous some small area of the near 
ocean; but the common donkey-ride of the 
seashore will flourish unchecked as in the 
ancient days of the early twentieth century 
and eke the later days of the nineteenth. A 
bold attempt will be made to grapple with 
the uncertainties of the British climate by 

by Google 

Mr, Rene Bull's forecast, of the manner in which 

the formation of a (I Hot Enclosure/' warmed 
through an immense burning-glass. Of course 
we do have summers (now and again in the 
course of a century), when the last thing any 
holiday-maker desires is to sit in a 4S Hct 
Enclosure !t ; doubtless by the time such 
another summer arrives there will have been 
ample time to think out an invention to deal 
with that. To the many inventions already 
ministering to the popular virtue of laziness 
is to be added yet another ; you are to be 
saved the trouble of reading your newspaper 
by sitting at your ease before the trumpet 
of an immense phonograph, which gathers 
and delivers news from all parts of the world 
as fast as things happen. The advertisements 
will need to be very skilfully wrapped up, or 
they will be howled down as soon as they 
begin ; and here is another advantage. You 
can't howl down a page advertisement of 
Chilblain Pills in your paper to-day ; some 
day you will not be so helpless. 

The attractions of bathing will be enhanced 
by the presence of a tame shark, reduced so 
low as to endure unceasing insult without 
snapping at as much as a finger, and kept fed, 
it would seem , by stray fragments of dis- 
integrated aviator falling casually from the 
heavens above. For the rest, the usual 
side-shows will persist, and the pay-box will 
be as prominent a feature of each as it is even 

Mr, Starr Wood looks also to mechanical 

Original from 


we shall spend our holidays in the days to come. 

: nvention to achieve most of the changes of 
the future, and these he offers in full measure. 
He has his airship, of course— the atmosphere 
looks uncomfortably empty to-day without 
one. But it flies not for a trip round a light- 
ship but for the convenience of divers, who 
may splash the splosh without Mr, Brock's 
preliminary slide. The trippers trip in 
aeroplanes , and a last decaying longshoreman 
makes a last desperate attempt to sell the 
last derelict boat for which there remains no 
market, all the museums presumably being 
fully supplied with such antiquities. 

The advance of political benevolence 
financed by the tax-gatherer enables every- 
body to spend his money in amusements, the 
vulgar requirement of food being provided 
free from so many centres that they are driven 
to compete with each other to justify their 
continuance. Thus the Free Public Luncheon 
Tent on the beach, taking a hint from the 
concave and convex mirrors of earlier estab- 
lishments, in capital letters invites the 
beneficiary to go in thin and come out stout. 

The Sand Cure for Nerves^ hard by, is no 
new thing, but is systematized and made 
thorough ; the haphazard shovellings of 
small nephews and nieces being replaced by a 
properly-supported reservoir with a correctly- 
graduated outlet. And the unscientific clair- 
voyance of the Bond Street seers gives place 
to a truly valuable instrument, the Spyo- 
sh, whereby an overseeing eye may be 


oL xli^-ia 

kept on an absent spouse at the much-reduced 
fee of one penny. Even the aeroplane has 
become a commonplace, and somewhat vieux 
jeu ; only the commonalty patronize its 
" trips round the coast/' and the truly up- 
to-date take a Blow to Paris at the extremely 
moderate fee of threepence. The mechanism 
is an incredibly advanced and enlarged 
application of the common pea-shooter of 
other days, and among its many advantages 
over the common aeroplane a vastly- increased 
degree of danger is to be counted, together 
with something very like a certainty of a most 
monumental cropper at the end of the journey. 
There are economic advantages, too ; you 
pay your threepence and off you go, with no 
possibility of further expenditure on the 
journey, unless you chance to turn over in 
your flight and squander your coin from your 
inverted pockets ; whereas, once you are on 
an aeroplane and at a giddy height, as is well 
known, the aviator who has charged you a 
shilling to go up is apt to demand ten to bring 
you down again. 

Even the children, Mr. Starr Wood assures 
us ; will insist on extraordinary mechanical 
improvements in their toys, and a patent 
in t ernal- combustion e cce n t r k> ac t io n slide- 
valve quadruple spade, geared up to five sand- 
castles an hour , will be demanded by every 
small boy of real spirit. 

Something significant, yet dubious of inter- 
pretation, 3.s KtWllw9£ MIOWQtfoore himself, 



is visible in the unbroken row of battleships 
lying in the offing. Is this so joyful an in- 
crease in Dreadnoughts that the whole coast 
is impassably surrounded, or are they merely 
a row of obsolete curiosities lined up for the 
amusement of the tripper ? As even Old 
Moore is sometimes driven to say, time alone 
can tell. 

But Mr, Rountree looks farther ahead than 
the rest. It must have been noticed by 

will be rewarded by the advent of paying 
crowds anxious for new sensations* Fathers 
enjoying their seaside holiday in the air over 
the seashore will bring their families to 
inspect caged specimens of curious human 
creatures of a bygone age- — poets, artists , 
somewhat truthful politicians and such out- 
of-date creatures, doctors (and perhaps 
bishops) who did not advertise. The New 
Barnunvs own advertisements will be arranged 

Mr. Starr Wood's conception of the health resort of the future. 

everybody already that the mere surface of 
the earth has become of late years somewhat 
unfashionable ; to fly over it and to tunnel 
under it is the tendency of the age, and no 
doubt as the air grows thicker with aviators 
the rest of humanity will all the more eagerly 
tend to burrow underground, if only from 
sheer terror for their heads. Mr, Rountree 
foresees the time when the actual ground 
surface shall be abandoned totally by all but 
the birds, who shall have been driven out of 
the air by overcrowding, The Bamum of 
the coming day, the showman-genius of the 
future, will setz? on the fact to astonish the 
world by the ncvel and striking enterprise 
of opening his show positively on the unin- 
habited surface of the earth, and his audacity 

in suitably upside-down methods. Whereas 
in our day exceptionally enterprising adver- 
tisers employ aviators to drop handbills from 
aloft, the New Barnum will send up his hand- 
bills from below, attached to toy balloons. 
And, as contrasted with past showmen who 
floated their announcements against the sky, 
he will spread his wide on the abandoned 
earth. Greater airships, more enormous 
aeroplanes than ever will crowd the air for 
the accommodation of cargoes and crowds, 
but the individual flyer w^ill just wear his 
personal flying suit, fitted with small and natty 
wings, with a neat little electric coil on his 
head 5 and a curly wire or two for some 
purpose that doubtt^s Mr, Rountree knows 



Mr. Harry Rountree** vision of the days when the earth ia forsaken for the sky. 

In those stirring days many among the 
quieter of us will take to the Tubes, and stop 
there. Mr, Starr Wood has already given us 
a hint of some such expedient when he 
announces his underground cricket. We will 
go down to the sea in tubes, and we will stay 
underground, with glass walls through which 

we can gaze on the sea below the surface 
without being distracted and maddened (not 
to say pole-axed) by flying things aLove ; and 
there we will sit in bathing-machines of 
antique pattern, surrounded by patent silent 
niggers and stuffed boatmen, and perhaps we 
may get a little sleep. 

by Google 

Original from 

The Lacquer Cabinet. 


Illustratea oy C, H, Tarfs. 

UINNEY chuckled as he re- 
read the letter which offered 
him a thousand pounds for 
his cherished lacquer cabinet, 
and he kept on rubbing his 
yi. -How. wrinkled hands and 
muttering : " Like to have it, 
wouldn't you ? But you won% my man. 
No, by gum, not if you offered double the 
money ! 

He was alone in the sanctuary of his best 
things. The heavy shutters were up f a wood 
fire glowed as if with pleasure upon a steel 
fender of the best Adam's period. The elec- 
tric lights in amber-coloured globes shone 
softly, caressing the Chippendale furniture 
and throwing delicate shadows upon the 
Au bus son carpet. Only the elect entered 
this famous room, and every article in it was 
known and beloved by the great collectors 
who dealt with Quinney. The passion for 
beautiful things was in his blood. His father 
had started a small curiosity shop in Salisbury, 
and Quinney himself as a boy of ten, used to 
gloat over the Ming figures , and touch them 
furtively in flagrant disobedience of rules. 
After his father's death he had moved to 
London and bought a fine Georgian house in 
Soho, which he had gradually filled with 
masterpieces. He was never tired of gazing 
at them with enraptured eyes. And he 
re fused , as he grew older and richer, to part 
with the gems of his collection- Nobody, 
not even Quinney , knew what the contents 
of this particular room were worth. Beside 
himself, only two persons entered it — his 
daughter, Posy, and his principal assistant, 
James Migott, a young man with a nose 
almost as keen as Quinney 's for beauty, and 
a fine pair of eyes which, in contrast to 
Quinney % dwelt lovingly upon what was 
animate as well as inanimate. 

Quinney, from being much by himself, had 
acquired the habit of thinking aloud ; and, 
although his surroundings were Attic, his 
speech remained rudely Doric, As he tore 
up the millionairess letter he muttered : 

CopjTight, 1911, by 

" Wonderful man I am ! To think that I 
should live to refuse an offer of a thousand 
pounds for that cabinet ! Sometimes I'm 
surprised at myself. By gum, I am ! " 

He approached the lacquer cabinet, a 
superb example of the best Japanese art of 
the eighteenth century, black and gold, with 
gold storks exquisitely delineated flying 
amongst golden flowers. The petals of the 
flowers were made of thin sheets of pure 
gold let into the lacquer. The stand upon 
which it stood was English, with curved ball 
and claw legs, also a miracle of craftsmanship. 
Nothing stood upon the cabinet except a 
large jar of the rare Kang-shi jamilh noire 
porcelain. The inside of the cabinet was as 
lavishly decorated as the outside, and it was 
signed with the name of the greatest of 
Japanese artists. The American millionaire 
had asked for a copy of this signature. 

Quinney gloated over the decoration for 
at least five minutes ; and then he noticed 
that the key was missing. Nothing was kept 
in the cabinet, and the lock, possibly, was 
the only part of it which could be criticized, 
for a child could have picked it with a hairpin. 
Quinney's eyes wandered to the Kang-shi jar, 
and presently he took it lovingly in to his hands, 
stroking it, enjoying voluptuously the texture 
of the paste. He put his tongue to it, an 
infallible test ; and from long practice he 
could have told you. had he been blind, that 
the temperature of the porcelain and its 
texture were confirmation stronger than any 
marks of quality and date. Then he thrust 
his hand into the interior to satisfy himself 
for the thousandth time of its amazing finish. 

Inside the jar was the key of the cabinet ! 

This astonished him, because he was living 
in a world from which the surprising had been 
rigorously eliminated. Why was the key of 
the cabinet hidden in the iar ? Who had 
placed it there ? Posy— or James Migott ? 

He sat down upon the finest Chippendale 
settee in the world to reflect upon this incident. 
Oddly enough, it disturbed him, although it 
was reasonable to suppose that his daughter 

Horace Aunr&ley YadiclL. "ll mOITI 





intended to tell him where she had put the 
key, which certainly fitted the lock too 
loosely and had been known to fall out of it. 

Finally, he decided that Posy, good girl, 
had chosen an excellent place for the key ; 
but she ought to have told him. He would 
speak to her on the morrow. 

He put the key back into the jar, and as 
he did so a clock began to chime the hour of 
midnight. Quinney listened to the silvery 
bells with the same enraptured expression 
which the gold petals upon the cabinet 
evoked. He reflected that time passed too 
nimbly when a man was perfectly happy. 
As a rule, he went to bed at half-past eleven, 
but the American's letter had engrossed his 
attention unduiy* The man wanted the 

cabinet so tremendously, and this lust for 
another's possession was well understood by 
Quinney, for he suffered cruelly from it him- 
self. There were bits in the Museums which 
he would have stolen without compunction, 
could he have " lifted ,J them without fear of 

He switched off the electric light, and by the 
faint glow of the fire turned to mount the 
stairs leading to his bedroom. But he paused 
on the threshold of his room, for a last glance 
at the sanctuary. Some of the things he 
would have liked to kiss, and this sentiment 
seemed to wax stronger with advancing years. 
He never left his wonderful room without 
reflecting sadly that the day would inevitably 
come when he would have ta leave it for ever* 




At this moment he heard approaching foot- 
steps—soft, stealthy footsteps, which might 
be those of a midnight robber ! 

Quinney was no coward, and he was com- 
fortably aware that his precious things would 
not be likely to tempt the ordinary burglar, 
because of the difficulty in disposing of them. 
Noiselessly he withdrew to the outer room, 


which held the furniture and china that 
could be bought, From the darkness of this 
outer room he could see without being seen* 
He nearly betrayed his presence when Posy 
entered the sanctuary, clothed in a silk 
dressing-gown, with her pretty hair in two 
long plaits. Wbat on earth was the girl up 
to? She glided across the Aubusson carpet, 
upon which great ladies of the French pre- 
Revolution period had stood^ and approached 

the lacquer cabinet. She thrust a white, 
slender arm into the great jar, took from it 
the key, unlocked the cabinet, opened it, 
waited a moment, with her back to her 
father, who was not able to see what she 
was doing, closed and locked the cabinet, 
replaced the key in the jar, and flitted away 
as silently as she had come ! 

Quinney wiped the dew of 
bewilderment from his high 
but narrow brow. 
The girl must be crazy ! 
He waited till he heard the 
closing of her door upstairs ; 
then he turned on the light 
and went to the cabinet. In 
the second drawer he found 
a letter, which he read. 
My Own Blue Bird ! 
Quinney paused. He had 
not seen Maeterlinck's famous 
play, but Posy had raved 
about it — with absurd enthu- 
siasm., so he had thought at 
the time — and he remem- 
bered that the Blue Bird re- 
presented happiness. 

My Own Blue Bird, — It was 
splendidly clever of you to think 
of using that stupid old cabinet 
as a pi liar-box, and the fact that 
we are corresponding under the 
very imsi- of father makes the 
whole a flair deliriously exciting 
and romantic. 1 should like to 
see his funny old face, if he could 
read this, . • .. 

"You shall, my girl," 
thought Quinney j grimly ,■ 
He knew that the " Blue 
Bird ** must be James Migott, 
drat him ! It could be 
nobody else. Quinney had 
guarded Posy very jealously. 
James was not permitted to 
speak to her except in his 
presence. And no letter to 
her ? ccming in the ordinary 
way j would have escaped his 
notice. So ! this young man,, 
whom he had trained to be a faithful servant, 
was carrying on a clandestine love affair with 
his only child and using the lacquer cabinet as 
a pillar-box ? He wiped his mouth with the 
silk handkerchief which he used to remove 
dust from his china, and his fingers trembled, 
for he was quivering with rage. Then he 
finished the letter :— 

We have pot to be most awfully careful > because if 
he saw me talking 10 you. except about his ridiculous 




business, he would simply chatter with rage. And, 
make no mistake, my feelings wouldn't count. I'm 
not nearly so dear to him as that Chelsea figure by 
Roubiliac. He only cares for things, not a brass 
farthing for persons. But, oh, Jim, I care more for 
you than all the things in the world, and I have had 
no love since mother died. Think of what I have to 
make up ! 

I shall get your answer to this when father is having 
his cigar after lunch. — Your loving Posy. 

Quinney put the billet back in the drawer, 
muttering to himself, " I shall get the dog's 
answer before lunch. He sha'n't complain 
that I gave him no opportunity." Grinding 
his teeth, he consigned James Migott to the 
nethermost Hades ; and at the same moment 
he decided that the Yankee — confound him 
also ! — should have the cabinet. For ever- 
more he would hate the sight of it. As for 
James Migott, the Blue Bird, he'd be blue 
ihdeed within twenty-four hours. Blue Bird, 
ihdeed ! A serpent ! A crawling snake ! 

He went to bed, but sleep refused to soothe 
him, although he dismissed James Migott 
from his thoughts, which dwelt with concen- 
tration upon Posy. Had he not given the 
best of everything to the ungrateful baggage ? 
And in return — this ! She dared to speak of 
his business as " ridiculous." The adjective 
bit deep into his mind. Ridiculous ? What 
the devil did she mean ? When his father 
died the business was worth at most eight 
thousand pounds. To-day the contents of 
the sanctuary alone would fetch at Christie's 
a round fifty thousand, if the right people 
were bidding. A ad they would be bidding. 
From the four quarters of the earth they 
would come, to bid against each other for the 
famous Quinney collection. Ridiculous I Sup- 
pose he left everything to the nation, thereby 
immortalizing himself? The Quinney Gal- 
lery ! That sounded well. Suppose he 
offered the gift during his lifetime ? Would 
his gracious Sovereign speak of his business 
as ridiculous ? All right. If this idiot of a 
girl cared for James Migott more than for his 
collections, she might have him — and be 
hanged to her ! Would the dog want her 
without the collections ? He smiled grimly 
at the thought. 

Next day he rose at the usual time and 
breakfasted alone with Posy, who smiled 
deceitfully, as if she were the best daughter 
in the kingdom. He looked at her sourly, 
contrasting her with the Chelsea shepherdess, 
modelled by the illustrious Frenchman. She 
was nearly as pretty, but oommon pottery, 
not porcelain, not the pdie iendre beloved 
by connoisseurs. He remarked a melting, 
luscious glaze about her eyes. She was 

thinking of her Blue Bird, the shameless 
baggage. At nine James Migott appeared, 
punctual to the minute. Quinney said to 
him, curtly: — 

" I am going out. You had better over- 
haul those Chippendale chairs in my room. I 
am thinking of having that old needlework 
cleaned. Get it off the chairs very carefully." 

" Right you are ! " exclaimed James. 

There was the same shining glaze in his 
blue eyes as he met frankly the gaze of his 
employer. It would not be easy to replace 
James. He could be trusted with things, 
but not with persons. His exclamation, 
" Right you are ! " tickled agreeably Quinney 's 
vanity. He was nearly always right, every- 
body admitted that. No big dealer had made 
fewer mistakes. That German fellow, who 
had made such an ass of himself about that 
wax figure, he was ridiculous, if you like. 
How Quinney had laughed at his egregious 
blunder ! 

At half-past twelve he returned. James 
"Migott had removed the precious needlework 
without breaking a thread. His employer 
grunted approval. " You love this busi- 
ness ? " he asked. 

" I like it," said James. 

He left the house to get his midday meal 
at a neighbouring restaurant in Dean Street. 
Upstairs Posy was playing Thalberg's " Home, 
Sweet Home " with a firmness of touch and 
brilliancy of technique which indicated that 
the money lavished upon her musical educa- 
tion had not been wasted. With the arpeg- 
gios rippling through his mind, Quinney 
opened the lacquer cabinet. Yes ; James 
had taken Posy's letter, and another — written 
upon the business note-paper — lay in its 
place. The lovers had not troubled to close 
the envelopes, so secure did they fancy them- 
selves in their fool's paradise. 

Quinney read as follows : — 

My Sweetest Posy,— 1 believe that your father 
does really love you, although he may not show it. 
He's a true lover of beauty in any form, and it's 
hardly possible that he doesn't prize you as the most 
beautiful of all his beautiful possessions. I am doing 
my best to please him and to win his confidence. As 
you say, we must be very careful and very patient, 
but he's taught me how to wait for the things worth 
having. I know that I must wait and work for you. 
—Your faithful Jim. 

Quinney read the letter twice and then 
replaced it in the cabinet. Throughout 
luncheon he said little, but stared furtively 
at his daughter, wondering whether James 
Migott — no mean judge — was right in affirm- 
ing that of all his possessions she was the 
most beautiful. He had intended to speak 



to Posy and James after luncheon ; he had 
planned a little dramatic scene, during which 
he would appear at the moment when Posy 
was taking the letter from the cabinet. Then, 
before she had time to collect her wits, he 
would summon the Blue Bird and deal 
trenchantly with the guilty pair. 

Presently he said, quietly : — 

" I've had an offer of a thousand pounds 
for the lacquer cabinet from Dupont Jordan." 

She answered, composedly, " Are you 
going to sell it ? " 

" Perhaps." 

Lord ! What an actress she was ! And 
not yet twenly ! When and where and how 
did she learn to wear this mask ? He eyed 
hef with wrinkled interrogation, asking himself 
dozens of questions. Had she always pre- 
tended with him ? What was she really 
like — inside ? As a collector of precious 
things, he had acquired the habit of examining 
meticulously every article of vertu, searching 
for the inimitable marks, the patine, not to 
be reproduced by the most cunning craftsman," 
the indelible handwriting of genius and time. 
But he had never searched for such marks 
in his daughter. When he lit his cigar, she 
went out of the room and he sat silent, not 
enjoying his cigar, wondering what her face 
looked like as she read the letter from her 
own Blue Bird. What James Migott had 
written gave him pause. He decided to read 
more of the correspondence before he pro- 
nounced judgment. 

That afternoon he made a list of the 
" gems " which might be offered to the nation 
or left to it as the Quinney bequest. At mid- 
night Posy would descend from her room and 
place another billet in the pillar-box. The 
pillar-box ! To what base uses might a gold 
lacquer cabinet degenerate ! 

He left the door of his bedroom ajar, and 
at midnight he heard the faint rustling of 
her dressing-gown as she stole downstairs 
and up again. At one, when he made certain 
that she was asleep, he descended to his room 
and read the second letter : — 

Darling Jim,— Father never cared for me. If I 
died to-morrow he would forget me in a week. 
Luckily I have you, but he will expect me to choose 
between him and you. The great overwhelming 
surprise of his life will be when he discovers that I 
have chosen you, because, incredible as it may seem, 
he believes that he has done his duty by me just as he 
believed that he did his duty by my dear mother. He 
will never, never know how he appears to others. — 
Your ever loving Posy. 

Quinney replaced the letter, went into the 
dining-room, and drank a glass of brown 
sherry. He preferred brown sherry because 

it exhibited the exact tint of faded mahogany, 
the tint so baffling to fakers of old furniture. 
As he sipped his wine he told himself that 
the girl was a liar. He had done his duty by 
her and by his dead wife. He had denied 
them nothing, gratified their whims, exalted 
each high above the station in which they 
had been born. Then he went to bed, to pass 
another wretched night, comparing himself 
to Lear and other fathers who had begotten 
thankless children. 

Posy expressed concern at his appearance 
next morning. He was yellow as a guinea, 
and his eyes were congested. 

" There's nothing the matter with me" he 

His emphasis on the personal pronoun 
reminded Posy that her father had made no 
claims upon her as ministering angel. He 
had never been ill, never " sorry for himself/' 
to use that familiar expression in a new and 
significant sense. To-day he looked very 
sorry for himself. She said so, tentatively. 

" I am sorry for myself," he declared. 

He went out and walked in the Park, 
smoking his pipe and muttering to himself : 
" I'll dish the dog. Before sunset he'll be 
wishing he'd never been born. Good as I've 
been to both of 'em ! Best father as ever 
lived, I do believe." Half an hour passed in 
computing what Posy had cost him. Fifteen 
hundred pounds in hard cash. The same 
sum invested, say, in old Irish glass would 
have trebled itself. Yes, by gum ! Posy 
represented a snug five thousand, the baggage ! 

When he returned to his house he was ripe 
for battle, thirsting for it. Three clients 
were waiting impatiently. He " socked " 
it to them. Asked big prices and got them, 
a salve to abraded pryde. James Migott 
was much impressed. 

" Nobody like you, sir, to sell stuff," he 
ventured to remark. 

Quinney snarled back : — 

" Yes, my lad, even if I do say it, there 
ain't my equal in London — that means the 
world. Best o' fathers I been, ain't I ? " 

James nodded. 

" Done my duty. That's a thought to 
stick to one's ribs — hay ? " 

" Yes, sir." 

" Never can remember the day when I 
couldn't say that. Sfluare, too, I've been 
within reasonable bounds, though I have 
made ignorance — as just now — pay for my 
knowledge. I know a lot, my lad — more'n 
you think for." 

" Yes, sir," said James. 

That morning the stall had a sultry time 



'there's nothing the matter with me,' he growled. 

of it. Everybody agreed that the governor's 
tongue had an edge to it keener than the 
east wind, which happened to be blowing 
bitterly. Posy, at the piano, was surprised 
to find her sire standing beside her, with a 
malicious grin upon his thin face. 

(f Can you cook ? " he asked. 

" Cook ? Me ? You know 1 can't cook, 

11 Not much of a hand with your needle 
either, are ye ? " 


" Urn ! They tell me that our Royal 
Princesses have to learn such things, willy- 
nillyj because revolutions do happen — some* 

Posy stared at him, thinking to herself : 
'* His liver is out of whack, and no mistake;" 

Vol *llL-». 

Quinney returned to his sanctuary, feeling 
that he was in form. The affair should be 
handled to rights. 

" I'll fix 'em/' he growled. " I'll sweep 
the cobwebs out o T their silly noddles, by 
gum I will ! " 

At lunch he harped back to the primitive 
duties of women, rubbing in his words and 
salting them properly. 

11 Look ye here, my girl. It's just struck 
me that I've been to blame in makin' you so 
bloornin' ornamental." 

" Come, father, I didn't get my good looks 
from you," 

" Handsome is as handsome does. Ever 
heard that ? " 

'* Once or twice," 

Quinney grinn^^f^yflrank his second 




glass of brown sherry. Very rarely did he 
exceed one glass of wine in the middle of the 
day. Then he lit his cigar and settled himself 
in an easy-chair near the fire. Posy went 
upstairs, singing softly as she went. 

" Chock-full o' deceit that girl is ! Oozin' 
from every pore. Stamps upstairs singin' 
like a lark, crawls down like a viper. Oh, 
my Lord ! " 

He looked at his watch. By his reckoning 
Posy was nearly due in the sanctuary. James 
was whistling in the basement. 

" Whistle away, you dog ! " he muttered. 
" I'm agoing to call the next tune." 

He had not long to wait. Posy came 
downstairs, entered the sanctuary, opened 
the lacquer cabinet, and was grasping Jim's 
letter, when Quinney, who had approached 
noiselessly from behind, tapped her on the 

" What are you up to, my girl ? " 

" I was just having a look at the inside of 
the cabinet. Thought of rubbing it over." 

" Did you ? What you got in your hand 
there ? Paper ? " 

" It's something b-belonging to m-me," 
stammered the unhappy maid. 

" What's in that cabinet belongs to me, 
my girl. Hand it over." 

Posy slipped the letter into the bosom of 
her gown, and stared defiantly at her father. 

" Sure it's yours ? " he asked. 

" Quite sure ; a private affair." 

" Keep your private papers in my cabinet 
—hay ? " 

" Sometimes." 

Posy was now more at her ease, much to 
Quinney's delight. The higher the baggage 
mounted the farther she would have to fall. 

" Wait a moment, my girl." 

He walked to the foot of the staircase and 
called out : " James Migott ! " 

A distant voice replied : — 

" Yes, sir." 

" Come you up here, my lad. Quick ! " 

James appeared, rather flushed. His 
colour deepened when he saw Posy standing 
close to the pillar-box. 

" Like to take it sittin' or standin' ? " 
inquired Quinney, with marked politeness. 

" Take what ? " inquired Posy. 

" The dose I'm goin' to give ye. I prefer 
to stand. You ain't fit, not by a long chalk, 
to sit on such chairs, but I've always been 
a considerate man." 

James and Posy stood where they were. 
Posy was very pale, and her pretty fingers 

Quinney glared at them, and the peroration 

he had prepared vanished to the limbo of 
unspoken speeches. He said, savagely : — 

" Fallen in love with each other — hay ? " 

" Yes," replied Posy, without a moment's 
hesitation. James said, with commendable 
promptness : " Same here." 

"A pretty couple. you make, by gum! 
Intentions honourable ? " he hissed at James. 

Posy tossed her head. James answered, 
politely : — 

" Quite." 

" Arranged the happy day yet ? " sneered 
the enraged Quinney. 

" Not yet, sir." 

" Ah ! Waitin', maybe, for my blessing ? " 

Posy burst out impetuously : — 

" Father, I love him." 

" That dog ! " 

"Easy, sir. I've served you like a dog 
because I love her." 

At this the brazen pair smiled at each other. 
Quinney's rage, so long restrained, rose to 
boiling point. 

" Ain't I been a good father to you ? " he 
asked Posy. " No quibblin' ; let's have the 
God's truth ! Ain't I been a good father to 
you ? " 

" No," said Posy. 

" What you say ? " 

" I said « No.' " 

" Well, I'm blest ! Ain't I given you 
everything a girl wants ? " 

11 No." 

" That nuts the lid on. Of all the shameless, 
ungrateful hussies ! Five thousand pounds 
you've cost me, miss. Not a penny less, by 
gum ! Now, you answer straight. It'd take 
you a month o' Sundays to tell what I have 
given you ; but you tell me what I've not 
given you ? " 

" Love." 

" Eh ? " 

" You don't love me ; you never have 
loved me. You love things." She waved 
an all-embracing arm. " Old chairs, faded 
tapestries, cracked china. You don't love, 
you can't love, persons." 

" Say that again. I want it to soak in." 

She said it again, with amazing calmness. 
Quinney, too confounded to deal adequately 
with her, turned to James. 

11 Do you love persons too ? " 

" That's right." 

" Things worth their weight in gold don't 
interest you — hay ? " 

" They interest me, but I don't love them." 

" Never occurred to you, did it, that these 
things would belong to my girl some day ? " 

" It may have occurred to me, but I didn't 




fall in love with Posy because she was your acute valuer of his generation, had never 

daughter." appraised these two. He hud always con- 

u Oh, really ? You'd take her as she stands sidercd that James was overpaid. Old 

— hay?" Cohen must be mad. Trembling and per- 

u Yes/' spiring, he played his trump card. 


" How do you propose to support her ? " " You can have her/' he shouted. " Take 

" That's easy answered. Old Cohen wants her now — and go ! " 

me* You pay me three pounds a week. I'm Posy faltered : " Father, you don't mean 

worth ten pounds, and Cohen is willing to it ? " 

give six pounds, not to mention a small com- " Yes, I do + Let him take you away if he 

mission on sales and purchases." wants you asvpu are." 

Ouinney sat down, gasping. He, the most He was certain that James would S( back 




down," and that a great victory was impend- 
ing. But James replied, without hesitation : — 

" Come, Posy ! My mother will be de- 
lighted to see you. I'll get a special licence 
this afternoon." 

The girl held up her head proudly. It is 
barely possible that till this moment she 
had never been absolutely sure of James. 
She beamed upon him. 

" Oh, Jim," she exclaimed, fervently, " you 
are a darling ! " 

She flung herself into his outstretched arms, 
and they kissed each other, quite regardless 
of Mr. Quinney. He stared about him, 
bewildered. Then he said, gaspingly : — 

" What would your pore mother have said?" 

Posy released herself and approached her 
father. Pity shone softly in her eyes as she 
asked, gently : — 

"Do you want to know what mother would 
have said ? " 

" I'm glad she was spared this, pore soul ! " 
ejaculated the bereaved man. " God, in His 
mercy, took her in time." 

" Do you want to know what mother would 
have said ? " 

She repeated the question in a deeper, more 
impressive tone. 

" What do you mean ? " 

" Wait ! " 

She fled upstairs. During her absence 
Quinney wondered how he would replace 
James Migott, whom he had trained so 
diligently from tender years. The dog knew 
so much that only time and patience and 
experience could impart. He had always 
intended to offer James a very small share in 
the business. 

Posy appeared breathless, and carrying a 
sheet of paper in her hand. 

" Read that, father." As he fumbled for 
his spectacles, she said, softly, " May I read 
it aloud?" 

" I don't care what you do." 

But in his heart he knew that this was a 
lie. He did care. The conviction stole upon 
him that they had " bested " him. He 
wanted Posy with something of the hunger 
which seized him when he went to the Gold 
Room of the British Museum and beheld the 
incomparable Portland Vase, priceless though 
broken. Then he heard Posy's voice, and it 
struck him for the first time that it was like 

her mother's. The similarity of form and 
feature also was startling. He grew pale and 
tremulous, for it seemed as if his wife had come 
back from the dead. When he closed his 
eyes he could imagine that she was speaking. 

My Darling Little Girl, — When you read this I 
shall be dead. I want to tell you before I go some- 
thing about your father, which may save you much 
unhappiness. He loved me dearly once, and he used 
to tell me so. And then he grew more and more 
absorbed in his business, and now he is so wrapped up 
in it that I greatly fear he may infect you, and that, 
like him, you may come to believe that the beauty of 
the world is to be found in sticks and stones. To me 
they are just that — sticks and stones. And so, when 
the time comes for you to marry, be sure that you 
choose a man who loves you for yourself and whom 
you love for himself. I was so happy with your 
father when we lived in a cottage in Salisbury ; I 
have been so unhappy in this great house filled with 
the things that have come between him and me. 

My old servant will deliver this letter to you when 
you are seventeen. Read it sometimes, and keep it 
safe, for it is all that I have to leave you. — Your 
loving Mother. 

Before she had reached the end Quinney 
had covered his face with his hands. When 
Posy's soft voice died away he made no sign. 
She believed then that his heart was dead 
indeed. James signed to her to come with 
him, but she gazed sorrowfully at her father, 
with the tears rolling down her cheeks. 

" Good-bye," she faltered. " You don't 
want me, and James does." 

Quinney lifted his head and sprang to his 
feet. The force of character which had made 
him pre-eminent in his business thrilled in his 
voice as he said, authoritatively : — 

" I do want you. And I want James. 
I — I — I've always held on tight to the best, 
and I shall hold on to you." Then his voice 
failed as they stared at him, hardly realizing 
what he meant. 

" Give me your mother's letter and leave 

They went out, closing the door. Quinney 
read the letter through and gazed at the 
things which had come between him and the 
writer. Then he placed the letter in the 
lacquer cabinet, locked it, and slipped the 
key into his pocket. His face worked 
strangely as he tried to keep back the tears 
which were softening his heart. 

He muttered brokenly : — 

" I wonder whether the pore dear soul 
knows ? " 

by Google 

Original from 

Boosters and Boosting. 

[The Following article, by a writer who is intimately conversant With the subject, describes 

the humours and marvels of town advertising aa it is practised in America. As some of the methods 

already show signs of being adopted in this country, it may be as well for our readers to 

be prepared for a campaign of British "boosters."] 


VERYONE knows what a 
boom is, as applied to a town. 
Charles Dickens described it 
seventy years ago in the 
" city J> of Eden, although 
the actual word had not then 
been coined. But for a long 
time — indeed j until lately — things were 
managed very unscientifically. The art 
of booming was a most one-sided affair, 
chiefly worked by the real estate owners or 

Spokane for conversational and advertising 
purposes *' as the centre of these United 
States and God Almighty's creation, and 
never to let a day pass without having done 
something in word or deed to boost this 
town.' 5 

Of course, this spirit of local patriotism is not 
new. It has long been associated, for example, 
with our own Peebles, w r hich a Peebles man 
does not hesitate to compare with Paris, 
greatly to Peebles's advantage. But the 

1. A .^ffeJS 


agents, <r Cities " so made — arising in a 
single night — showed a lamentable tendency 
to il bust up " or *' move on." There 
was an absence of local pride , which is 
such a conspicuous feature of the new order 
of things— the order of the 4t boosters/ 1 

" Boost " is a common American term 
meaning to u push upward." In jSq8 the 
first Boosters' Club was formed at Spokane, 
Washington, for the purpose of boosting 
Spokane into the place which through its 
natural resources and attractions it deserved. 
The club, which comprised practically the 
whole population of the town, drew up rules 
in which every soul pledged himself to regard 

Digitized by VjOOSIC 

organization is new. Rooster clubs began 
to spring up all over the West* They spread 
to the East, to the North, and to the South, 
and now the prevailing sentiment has grown 
so local as to find expression in the phrase, 
dt Cuss America ; give me Oshkosh." 
Americans who formerly went about with 
the American flag in their hats and the 
American eagle in their button-holes have 
now substituted photographic views of their 
own towns or local emblems, in default of 
r egu lar 1 y -gran ted municipal coa t s- o f- ar rn s « 
Even this last want is to be supplied, as will 
be rela J ed hereafter, 
A year agoOtt^tftafrfftgffiied possible that 





the great Panama Canal Exhibition of 191 2 
might go to New Orleans , the San Francisco 
boosters got to work in earnest to prevent 
such a calamity. One of the things they 
organized was a plug-hat-and-shirt- front 
parade- If such a festival were announced 
to take place in Manchester or Birmingham 
it would cause much mystification. Every- 
body out West understands and appreciates 
it at once. Of course, they were not 
real hats or shirt-fronts, but strips of 
cardboard, circular and flat, 
the one to be adjusted around 
the crown of an ordinary hat 
and the other to be worn on 
the chest , each inscribed in 
terrific red letters with the 
name of the town to be 
boosted^ as, " Boost Seattle ! " 
Imagine a procession of thou- 
sands of able-bodied citizens 
marching along by torchlight, 
with their knightly mottoes, 
for which they would dare and 
do and die, vividly inscribed 
on their persons, striding forth 
daunt less ly and roaring at the 
tops of their voices ! 

tk Do you believe/' asks the prospectus of 
the Seattle Boosters' Club, " that Seattle is 
the best and most beautiful, the most elegant 
and most enterprising, the most cultured 
and most convenient, the most honourable 
and happiest city in the universe ? 
" Then Boost Seattle ! 
u Do you believe it could be made so ? 
l ' Then Boost Seattle ! 
" Are you ashamed of your town ? 
11 Then Boost Seattle ! " 
Or here is another effort : — 

" A small town is a mean town ; 
A mean town is a cussed town ; 
A cussed town is no good. 
Boost Placerville ! " 
The boosting spirit of Tacoma carries the 
idea further : — ' 
" Boost Tacoma ! 
Boost Tacoma night and day ! 
Boost Tacoma when you 

travel ! 
Boost Tacoma in your letters 

East ! 
Put your whole soul into it ! 
Boost Tacoma ! " 
Boosting now forms part, and often 
the principal part, of the labours of perhaps 
a majority of the towns of over fifteen thou- 
sand inhabitants in the West. The first step 
in town boosting is to form a committee, 





» CROW * 


which may be called a Chamber of Commerce, 
a Publicity Assoc iat ion f or even such an 
undignified title as " The League of Wichita 
Boosters." It does not matter what it is 
called — the objects are the same, and the 
methods only differ in degree. 

Every business man in the town will be 
required to subscribe, say, one pound for a 
badge of membership, The badges are of 
original designs, with mottoes and catch 
phrases, and on a particular day a committee 
of ladies will seize upon all the 
men and insist on their pur- 
chasing badges. 

Shirt-front parades have been 
adopted elsewhere, but a shirt- 
sleeve parade is Winnipeg's 
own. Stung by the taunts of 
other and more southerly cities, 
the Bull's-Eye of the West, as 
Winnipeg calls itself, in order 
to prove the possibilities of its 
own salubrious climate, got up 
a Xew Year's Day procession 
in which all coats and jackets 
were dispensed with by the 
u process ers." The next day 
the following telegraphic de- 
spatch appeared in many of the American 
newspapers : — 

" In order to dispel the illusion that Winni- 
peg is a suburb of the North Pole and too 
frigid in winter for comfort, a demonstration 
was held here to-day, in which all the partici- 
pants took part in their shirt -sleeves." 

Whereupon a Chicago editor telegraphed, 
" Please send full list of casualties," In this 
connection it may be mentioned that it was 
the Montreal boosters who vetoed the famous 
ice-palace and winter sports carnival, using 
the memorable phrase, u Ice and boosting 
don't mix." 

Here is a reproduction of Tacoma's button. 
As to badges, prizes are offered for the most 
telling device to symbolize the city, and some 
of them are already showing signs of 
adopting the city arms of old-world 
heraldry, although the Tombstone 
(Arkansas) Epitaph's suggestion for 
Guthrie, of "A skunk rampant fight- 
ing a wild-cat over a hill of beans ar- 
gent," is not likely to be adopted* 

Most towns " on the boost" have 

a watchword. Many use " Watch Us 

Grow ! " but Tacoma has a special 

"You'll Like Tacoma!" Others are 





" Busy Portland," " Peerless Wichita," and 

" What's the Matter with ?" the blank 

being understood £ccb« Oklahoma. 







n JS 

*£ D ' ? 1 

_ ^IP 13 

He m 

WO R 1- [>- W 1 DE rO P U LA K f T Y + 

As an illustration of how these phrases 
catch on, a letter was sent last autumn from 
England, bearing the postal address : — 
"The City You'll Like, 

and was duly delivered in Tacoma, 

Not long ago there was a monster gathering 
at Denver, comprising thousands of delegates 
from all the cities of the West. The pro- 
ceedings were opened by prayer, and in the 
midst of the solemn silence with which the 
preacher concluded a thousand men arose at 
a given signal and bawled in stentorian 
tones : — 
" Ok-la-ho-ma City ! 
Sixty-four thousand two hundred and five ! " 
What's the matter with Oklahoma ? " 
This, considering the exploit was tele- 
graphed all over the country, was held to 

at the close of his exhortation he cried out : 
" And now, O Lord, Thy especial blessing 
is asked for the large and important city of 
Pueblo , whose population this year is sixty -six 
thousand seven hundred and twenty-three 
souls. Watch us and help us grow. Amen/' 

The roar of the Omaha men, chiefly of rage 
and disappointment, sounded rather feeble 
after that singular outburst, and Pueblo was 
held to have scored, 

Pueblo's ambition is to become the Pitts- 
burg of the West. Hence the local motto, 
" Watch Our Smoke/' This town has sent 
out a cowboy band of fifty-two performers to 
travel all over the States, with banners and 
advertising material. Only the other day 
Pueblo managed to capture the Wichita base- 
ball team. There seems to have been some 
delay at Wichita in finding money to renew 
the contract. The Pueblo agent was waiting 
— made terms with the players, and the next 
day they left for Pueblo. This is all part of 
the boosting scheme. 

On the whole, boosting may be said to be 
regarded as a kind of game combined with 
business in America, and very few, if any, 
are really ill-humoured about it. Roars of 
laughter go up amongst millions of people 
when any especially audacious point is made. 
The proprietor of a paint factory established 
at Tacoma offered an ingenious scheme to the 
boosters. Red paint was to be given gratis, 


have been a great feat of boosting on the part 
of the Oklahoma contingent ; and so, when 
the time next came for a great inter-State 
congress, Omaha determined not to be ciught 
napping. But, although their organization 
was perfect, they had reckoned without their 
host, for the divine was a Pueblo man, and 

or at a merely nominal price, to enthusiastic 
citizens of Tacoma, who were to go about 
the country and inscribe " Boost Tacoma," 
" Tacoma, the Emporium of the Earth/' and 
other appropriate legends on all the available 
and accessible spots they could find. For a 
time the plan met with great success, 




especially in the hands of the juvenile part 
of the community, until one fine day the 
amateur sign-painters inscribed " Tacorna " 
on the hides of a herd of cattle belonging to 
a Spokane man, who promptly brought an 
action, and caused a marked decline of zeal 
in this direction. 
But signs and sign-hoards advertising 

' Butte City ' on his lips that he was ushered 
into the presence of hh Maker/ ' 

The Omaha journalistic comment on this 
is hardly quotable, but it concludes : " No 
doubt the ejaculation of this foolhardy 
youth was called forth by a sudden glimpse, 
as in a vision, of his future place of resi- 
dence in the smoky depths below.' 1 


towns are a prominent feature of the scenery 
of the West, " Delightful Denver " is 
written not only on Pike's Peak, but on the 
summit of Mount Buckskin, more than four 
thousand feet above sea-level* Last year the 
Montana capital reached the fifty-thousand 
mark, and promptly Lin enthusiastic tourist 
from Butte City set out to proclaim the fact 
on the highest walls of the famous Cheyenne 
Canyon. Unluckily, he lost his balance, and 
the rest of the story may best be told in the 
words of a Butte City newspaper: "His 
horrified companions below saw him reel and 
totter ; but even in that supreme moment, 
when this brave citizen was about to take his 
plunge into eternity, it was with the name 

Speaking of journalism and the high- 
falutin language with which the local boosting 
process is fostered, a whole entertaining 
article could be filled with extracts. Here 
is one : — 

" Come to Salt Lake City ! 

(t Is there anything that can stop us ? 

" Nevada is unfolding west of us, and all 
the tributary region around us is developing ; 
the American .spirit has entered the lands 
beyond the sea ; and because of it there will 
soon be five ships upon the Pacific for every 
one that rides there now. Great trans- 
continental traffic will result, and along the 
main line of it, with railroads diverging in 
every direction, will be Salt Lake City, now 




the most beautiful ; hereafter not only the 
most beautiful, but one of the most important 
of the interior cities of the United States. It 
is decreed ! " 

Why is Salt Lake City the Promised Land— 
the modern Canaan ? 

Not because of its i'kCrJyv'MA 

religion — no, not al- 
together ; but because 
of its astonishing re- 
semblance to the Holy 
Land- It is an almost 
exact counterpart, as 
poster after poster in- 
forms you, and the 
City of the Elders is 
Jerusalem the Golden. 

One must not for- 
get other boosting 
methods. Sometimes 
the tourist is startled 
by seeing a whole train 
bearing enormous 
labels steaming slowly 
through rival towns 
green with envy : — 

" This train con- 
tains more population 
for Portland. 1910, 

Or " These cars are filled with folks 
coming to live in Seattle, the Little Wonder 
of Washington, We are it ! " 

It was Tacoma that dispatched apples all 
over the East wrapped in tissue paper with 
the inscription : " This is from Tacoma. So 
are you — a long way from* Come nearer. 
You 1 11 like Tacoma." Another read : " Small 


but sweet. Babies grow bigger. Come and 
join us." 

Spokane has an apple-fair each year to 
advertise its apple-growing. The apples are 
taken, free of all charge, to Boston and ex- 
hibited there, and then 
to various other to wns, 
Portland (Oregon) has 
a Festival of Roses, 
the streets being deco- 
rated w r ith roses, an 
idea which was copied 
in Vienna recently. 

They tell a story in 
the West of four pro- 
fess e d — per haps pro- 
fessional — b o o s t e r s 
who met in Kansas 
City and began boost- 
ing their own towns. 
One hailed from 
Pueblo, one from 
Santa F6, one from 
Guthrie, and one from 
Wichita, From boost- 
ing — or " boasting/ 1 
as it should, perhaps, 
be written — they pro- 
ceeded to argument. 
The argument waxed 
They adjourned to a 
saloon to cool off, apparently without success, 
for in the morning the Pueblo man was found 
outside, shot ; the booster from Wichita had his 
skull fractured ; the Guthrie man was dead 
drunk ; and the Santa Fe enthusiast was roped 
together into a parcel labelled, u Freight to 
Guthrie. New Settler. With care.'* 


warm, and then hot, 


Vol- iUi-2a 

by Google 


its way ©ikfinal from 

Three From Dunsterville. 


Illustrated ty Josepk Simpson, R.B*A, 

NCE upon a time there was 
erected in Longacre Square, 
New York, a large white 
statue, labelled u Our City/' 
the figure of a woman in 
Grecian robes, holding aloft 
a shield. Critical citizens 
objected to it for %'arious reasons, but its real 
talk was that its symbolism was faulty. The 
sculptor should have represented New York 
as a conjurer in evening dress, smiling blandly 
as he changed a rabbit into a bowl of gold- 
fish, For that, above all else, is New York's 
speciality, It changes. 

Between May ist, when .shy stepped off the 
train, and May 16th, when she received Eddy 
Moore's letter containing the information 
that he had found her a post as stenographer 
in the office of Joe Rendal, it had changed 
Mary Hill quite remarkably, 

Mary was from Dunsterville, which is in 
Canada, Emigrations from Dunsterville were 
rare. It is a somnolent town ; and, as a rule, 
young men born there follow in their father's 
footsteps, working on the paternal farm or 
helping in the paternal store. Occasionally 
a daring spirit will break away, but seldom 
farther than Montreal. Two only of the 
younger generation, Joe Rendal and Eddy 
Moore, had set out to make their fortunes in 
New York ; and both, despite the gloomy 
prophecies of the village sages, had prospered, 
Mary, third and last emigrant, did not 
aspire to such heights 1 All she demanded 
from New Y T ork for the present was that it 
should pay her a living wage, and to that end, 
having studied by stealth typewriting and 
shorthand, she had taken the plunge, thrilling 
with excitement and the romance of things ; 
and New York had looked at her, raised its 
eyebrows, and looked away again. If every 
city has a voice, New York's at that moment 
had said " Huh ! " This had damped Mary. 
She saw that there were going to be obstacles. 
For one thing, she had depended so greatly 
gn Eddy Moore j and he had failed her. Three 

years be fore , at a church festival, he had 
stated specifically that he would die for her. 
Perhaps he was still willing to do that — she 
had not inquired — but, at any rate, he did not 
see his way to employing her as a secretary. 
He had been very nice about it. He had 
smiled kindly, taken her address, and said 
he would do what he could, and had then 
hurried off to meet a man at lunch. But 
he had not given her a position. And as the 
days went by and she found no employment, 
and her little stock of money dwindled, and 
no word came from Eddy, New York got to 
work and changed her outlook on things 
wonderfully. What had seemed romantic 
became merely frightening. What had been 
exciting gave her a feeling of dazed helpless- 

But it was not until Eddy's letter came that 
she realized the completeness of the change. 
On May rst she would have thanked Eddy 
politely for his trouble, adding, however, that 
she would really prefer not to meet poor Joe 
again. On May 16th she welcomed him as 
something Heaven-sent. The fact that she 
was to be employed outweigh ted a thousand- 
fold the fact that her employer was to be Joe. 

It was not that she disliked Joe. She was 
sorry for him. 

She remembered Joe, a silent, shambling 
youth, all hands, feet, and shyness, who had 
spent most of his spare time twisting his 
fingers and staring adoringly at her from afar. 
The opinion of those in the social whirl of 
Dunsterville had been that it was his hopeless 
passion for her that had made him fly to New- 
York, It would be embarrassing meeting 
him again. It would require tact to dis- 
courage his silent worshipping without wound- 
ing him more deeply, She hated hurting 

But, even at the cost of that, she must 
accept the post. To refuse meant igno- 
minious retreat to Dunsterville, and from 
that her pride Te% T oIted. She must revisit 
Dunsterville in triumph or not at all 



Joe RendaPs 
office was in 
the heart of 
the financial 
district , situa- 
ted about half- 
way up a build- 
ing that, to 
Mary, reared 
amidst the less 
i mpressive 
architecture of 
her home* 
town, seemed 
to reach nearly 
to the sky. A 
proud - looking 
apparen tly 
baffled and 
mortified by 
the informa- 
tion that she 
had an appoint- 
ment, took her 
name, and she 
sat down, filled 
with a fine 
mixed assort- 
ment of emo- 
tions, to wait. 

For the first 
time since her 
arrival in New 
York she felt 
almost easy in 
her mind. New 
York, with its 
shoving, jostl- 
ing, hurrying 
c r o wds ; a 
giant fowl-rup, 
full of human 
fowls scurrying 

to and fro ; clucking, ever on the look-out 
for some desired morsel } and ever ready to 
swoop down and snatch it from its temporary 
possessor, had numbed her. But now she felt 
a slackening of the strain. New York might 
be too much for her, but she could cope 
with Joe, 

The haughty boy returned, Mr. Rendat 
was disengaged* She rose and went into an 
inner room, where a big man was seated at a 

It was Joe. There was no doubt about 
that. But it was not the Joe she remem- 
bered, he of the twisted fingers and silent 
stare. In his case, too* New York had 



conjured effectively. He was better-looking, 
better-dressed, improved in every respect. 
In the old days one had noticed the hands 
and feet and deduced the presence of Joe 
somewhere in the background. Now they 
were merely adjuncts. It was with a rush 
of indignation that Mary found herself feeling 
bucolic and awkward. Awkward with Joe ! 
It was an outrage. 

His manner heightened the feeling. If he 
had given the least sign of embarrassment 
she might have softened towards him. He 
showed no embarrassment whatever. He was 
very much at his e&se, He was cheerful. He 

waseve DfS\ p ^TY OF MICHIGAN 



" Welcome to our beautiful little city/' he 

Mary was filled with a helpless anger. 
What right had he to ignore the past in this 
way, to behave as if her presence had never 
reduced him to pulp ? 

" Won't you ?it down ? " he went on. 
" It's splendid, seeing you again, Mary. 
You're looking very well. How long have 
you been in New York ? Eddy tells me you 
want to get taken on as a secretary. As it 
happens, there is a vacancy for just that in 
this office. A big, wide vacancy, left by a 
lady who departed yesterday in a shower of 
burning words and hairpins. She said she 
would never return, and, between ourselves, 
that was the right guess. Would you mind 
letting me see what you can do ? Will you 
take this letter down ? " 

Certainly there was something compelling 
about this new Joe. Mary took the pencil and 
pad which he offered — and she took them 
meekly. Until this moment she had always 
been astonished by the reports which filtered 
through to Dunsterville of his success in the 
big city. Of course, nobody had ever doubted 
his perseverance ; but it takes something more 
than perseverance to fight New York fairly 
and squarely and win. And Joe had that 
something. He had force. He was sure of 

" Read it, please," he said, when he had 
finished dictating. " Yes, that's all right. 
You'll do." 

For a moment Mary was on the point of 
refusing. A mad desire gripped her to assert 
herself, to make plain her resentment at this 
revolt of the serf. Then she thought of those 
scuttling, clucking crowds, and her heart 
failed her. 

" Thank you," she said, in a small voice. 

As she spoke the door opened. 

" Well, well, well ! " said Joe. " Here we 
all are ! Come in, Eddy. Mary has just 
been showing me what she can do." 

If time had done much for Joe, it had done 
more for his fellow-emigrant, Eddy Moore. 
He had always been good-looking and — 
according to local standards — presentable. 
Tall, slim, with dark eyes that made you 
catch your breath when they looked into 
yours, and a ready flow of speech, he had 
been Dunsterville's prize exhibit. And here 
he was with all his excellence heightened and 
accentuated by the polish of the city. He 
had filled out. His clothes were wonderful. 
And his voice, when he spoke, had just that 
same musical quality. 

" So you and Joe have fixed it up t 

Capital ! Shall we all go and lunch some" 
where ? " 

" Got an appointment," said Joe. " I'm 
late already. Be here at two sharp, Mary." 
He took up his hat and went out. 

The effect of Eddy's suavity had been to 
make Mary forget the position in which she 
now stood to Joe. Eddy had created for the 
moment quite an old-time atmosphere of 
good-fellowship. She hated Joe for shatter- 
ing this and reminding her that she was his 
employee. Her quick flush was not lost on 

" Dear old Joe is a little abrupt sometimes," 
he said. "But " 

" He's a pig ! " said Mary, defiantly. 

" But you mustn't mind it. New York 
makes men like that." 

" It hasn't made you — not to me, at any 
rate. Oh, Eddy," she cried, impulsively, 
" I'm frightened. I wish I had never come 
here. You're the only thing in this whole 
city that isn't hateful." 

" Poor little girl ! " he said. " Never 
mind. Let me take you and give you some 
lunch. Come along." 

Eddy was soothing. There was no doubt 
of that. He stayed her with minced chicken 
and comforted her with soft-shelled crab. 
His voice was a lullaby, lulling her Joe- 
harassed nerves to Test. 

They discussed the dear old days. A 
carper might have said that Eddy was the 
least bit vague on the subject of the dear old 
days. A carper might have pointed out that 
the discussion of the dear old days, when you 
came to analyze it, was practically a mono- 
logue on Mary's part, punctuated with 
musical " Yes, yes's " from her companion. 
But who cares what carpers think ? Mary 
herself had no fault to find. In the roar of 
New York Dunsterville had suddenly become 
very dear to her, and she found in Eddy a 
sympathetic soul to whom she could open 
her heart. 

" Do you remember the old school, Eddy, 
and how you and I used to walk there 
together, you carrying my dinner-basket 
and helping me over the fences ? " 

" Yes, yes." 

" And we'd gather hickory-nuts and per- 
simmons ? " 

" Persimmons, yes," murmured Eddy. 

" Do you remember the prizes the teacher 
gave the one who got best marks in the spell- 
ing class ? And the treats at Christmas, 
when we all got twelve sticks of striped 
peppermint candy ? And drawing the water 
out of the weil in that old wooden bucket 



in the winter, and pouring it out in the play- 
ground and skating on it when it froze ? 
And wasn't it cold in the winter, too ! Do 
you remember the stove in the schoolroom ? 
How we used to crowd round it ! " 

" The stove, yes," said Eddy, dreamily. 
" Ah, yes, the stove. Yes, yes. Those were 
dear old days ! " 

Mary leaned her elbows on the table and her 
chin on her hands, and looked across at him 
with sparkling eyes. 

"Oh, Eddy," she said, "you don't know 
how nice it is to meet someone who remembers 
all about those old times ! I felt a hundred 
million miles from Dunsterville before I saw 
you, and I was homesick. But now it's all 

" Poor little Mary ! " 

" Do you remember ? " 

He glanced at his watch with some haste. 

" It's two o'clock," he said. " I think we 
should be going." 

Mary's face fell. 

" Back to that pig Joe ! I hate him. And 
IH show him that I do ! " 

Eddy looked almost alarmed. 

" I— I shouldn't do that," he said. " I 
don't think I should do that. It's only his 
manner at first. You'll get to like him better. 
He's an awfully good fellow really, Joe. And 
if you — er — quarrelled with him you might 
find it hard — what I mean is, it's not so easy 
to pick up jobs in New York. I shouldn't 
like to think of you, Mary," he added, 
tenderly, " hunting for a job — tired — perhaps 
hungry " 

Mary's eyes filled with tears. 

" How good you are, Eddy ! " she said. 
" And I'm horrid, grumbling when I ought 
to be thanking you for getting me the place. 
I'll be nice to him — if I can — as nice as 

" That's right. Do try. And we shall be 
seeing quite a lot of each other. We must 
often lunch together." 

Mary re-entered the office not without some 
trepidation. Two hours ago it would have 
seemed absurd to be frightened of Joe, but 
Eddy had brought it home to her again how 
completely she was dependent on her former 
serFs goodwill. And he had told her to be 
back at two sharp, and it was now nearly a 
quarter past. 

The outer office was empty. She went on 
into the inner room. 

She had speculated as she went on Joe's 
probable attitude. She had pictured him as 
annoyed, even rude. What she was not 
prepared for was to find him on all fours, 

grunting and rooting about in a pile of papers. 
She stopped short. 

" What are you doing ? " she gasped. 

" I can't think what you meant," he said. 
" There must be some mistake. I'm not even 
a passable pig. I couldn't deceive a novice." 

He rose, and dusted his knees. 

" Yet you seemed absolutely certain in the 
restaurant just now. Did you notice that 
you were sitting near to a sort of jungle of 
potted palms ? I was lunching immediately 
on the other side of the forest." 

Mary drew herself up and fixed him with 
an eye that shone with rage and scorn. 

" Eavesdropper ! " she cried. 

"Not guilty," he said, cheerfully. "I 
hadn't a notion that you were there till you 
shouted, ' That pig Joe, I hate him ! ' and 
almost directly afterwards I left." 

" I did not shout." 

" My dear girl, you cracked a wine-glass at 
my table. The man I was lunching with 
jumped clean out of his seat and swallowed 
his cigar. ,You ought to be more careful ! " 

Mary bit her lip. 

" And now, I suppose, you are going to 
dismiss me ? " 

" Dismiss you ? Not much. The thing 
has simply confirmed my high opinion of your 
qualifications. The ideal secretary must have 
two qualities : she must be able to sec. and 
she must think her employer a pig. You fill 
the bill. Would you mind taking down this 

Life was very swift and stimulating for 
Mary during the early days of her professional 
career. The inner workings of a busy broker's 
office are always interesting to the stranger. 
She had never understood how business men 
made their money, and sh$ did not under- 
stand now ; but it did not take her long to 
see that if they were all like Joe Rendal they 
earned it. There were days of comparative 
calm. There were days that were busy. And 
there were days that packed into the space of a 
few hours the concentrated essence of a music- 
hall knock-about sketch, an earthquake, a 
football scrummage, and the rush-hour on the 
Tube ; when the office was full of shouting 
men, when strange figures dived in and out 
and banged doors like characters in an old 
farce, and Harold, the proud office-boy, lost 
his air of being on the point of lunching with a 
duke at the club and perspired like one of the 
proletariat. On these occasions you could not 
help admiring Joe, even if you hated him. 
When a man is doing his own job well, it is 
impossible not to admire him. And Joe did 




his job superlatively well. He was every- 
where. Where others trotted, he sprang. 
Where others raised their voices j he yelled* 
Where others were in two places at once, he 
was in three and moving towards a fourth, 

These upheavals had the effect on Mary of 
making her feel curiously linked to the firm, 
On ordinary days work was work, but on 
these occasions of storm and stress it was a 
fight, and she looked on every member of the 
little band grouped under the banner of 
J, Rendal as a b ro the r-in -arms. For Joe, 

And to Joe , as an ordinary individual, she 
objected. There was an indefinable some™ 
thing in his manner which jarred on her. 
She came to the conclusion that it was 
principally his insufferable good-humour. If 
only he would lose his temper with her now 
and then, she felt he would be bearable. He 
lost it with others. Why not with her ? 
Because, she told herself bitterly, he wanted 
to show her that she mattered so little to him 
that it was not worth while quarrelling with 
her ; because he wanted to put her in the 


while the battle raged, she would have done 
anything, Her resentment at being under 
his orders vanished completely. He was her 
captain, and she a mere unit in the firing-line. 
It was a privilege to do what she was told. 
And if the order came sharp and abrupt, that 
only meant that the fighting was fierce and 
that she was all the more fortunate in being 
in a position to be of service. 

The reaction would come with the end of 
the fight. Her private hostilities began 
when the firm's ceased. She became an 
ordinary individual ag^tn/ ajj^s^jdid Joe. 

I. Ml l\\] KH -. 

r in that 


wrong, to be superior. She hud 
right to hate a man who treated 

She compared him, to his disadvantage, with 
Eddy. Eddy, during these days, r<Y nt i nu0 d 
to be more and more of a comfort. l\ rather 
surprised her that he found so much t 
devote to hen When she had first ca 
him, on her arrival in the city, he had 
her the impression— more, she admitted, b> 
his manner than his words — that she was no, 
wanted. He had shown no disposition 
seek he©rkg|«npti(iRDmBut now he seem 


- ! 



always to be on hand. To take her out to 
lunch appeared to be his chief hobby. 

One afternoon Joe commented on it, with 
that air of suppressing an indulgent smile 
which Mary found so trying. 

" I saw you and Eddy at Stephano's just 
now/' he said, between sentences of a letter 
which he was dictating. " You're seeing a 
good deal of Eddy, aren't you ? " 

"Yes," said Mary. "He's very kind.. 
He knows I'm lonely." She paused. " He 
hasn't forgotten the old days," she said, 

Joe nodded. 

"Good old Eddy! "he said. 

There was nothing in the words to make 
Mary fire up, but much in the way they were 
spoken, and she fired up accordingly. 

" What do you mean ? " she cried. 

" Mean ? " queried Joe. 

" You're hinting at something. If you 
have anything to say against Eddy, why don't 
you say it straight out ? " 

" It's a good working rule in life never 
to say anything straight out. Speaking in 
parables, I will observe that, if America was 
a monarchy instead of a republic and people . 
here had titles, Eddy would be a certainty 
for first Earl of Pearl Street." 

Dignity fought with curiosity in Mary for 
a moment. The latter won. 

" I don't know what you mean ! Why 
Pearl Street ? " 

" Go and have a look at it." 

Dignity recovered its ground. Mary tossed 
her head. 

"'We are wasting a great deal of time," 
she said, coldly. " Shall I take down the 
rest of this letter ? " 

" Great idea ! " said Joe, indulgently. 
" Do." 

A policeman, brooding on life in the neigh- 
bourhood of City Hall Park and Broadway 
that evening, awoke with a start from his 
meditations to find himself being addressed 
by a young lady. The young lady had large 
grey eyes and a slim figure. She appealed 
to the aesthetic taste of the policeman. 

" Hold to me, lady," he said, with gallant 
alacrity. " I'll see yez acrost." 

"Thank you, I don't want to cross," she 
said. " Officer ! " 

The policeman rather liked being called 

" Ma'am ? " he beamed. 

" Officer, do you know a street called 
Pearl Street ? " 

" I do that, ma'am." 

She hesitated. 

" What sort of street is it ? " 

The policeman searched in his mind for a 
neat definition. 

" Darned crooked, miss/' he said. 

He then proceeded to point the way, but 
the lady had gone. 

It was a bomb in a blue dress that Joe 
found waiting for him at the office next 
morning. He surveyed it in silence, then 
raised his hands above his head. 

" Don't shoot," he said. " What's the 
matter ? " 

" What right had you to say that about 
Eddy ? You know what I mean — about 
Pearl Street." 

Joe laughed. 

" Did you take a look at Pearl Street ? " 

Mary's anger blazed out. 

" I didn't think you could be so mean and 
cowardly," she cried. " You ought to be 
ashamed to talk about people behind their 
backs, when — when — besides, if he's what 
you say, how did it happen that you engaged 
me on his recommendation ? " 

He looked at her for an instant without 
replying. " I'd have engaged you," he said, 
" on the recommendation of a syndicate of 
forgers and three-card-trick men." 

He stood fingering a pile of papers on the 

" Eddy isn't the only person who remem- 
bers the old days, Mary," he said, slowly. 

She looked at him, surprised. There was 
a note in his voice that she had not heard 
before. She was conscious of a curious 
embarrassment and a subtler feeling which 
she could not analyse. But before she could 
speak, Harold, the officeTboy, entered the 
room with a card, and the conversation was 
swept away on a tidal wave of work. 

Joe made no attempt to resume it. That 
morning happened to be one of the earth- 
quake, knock-about-sketch mornings, and 
conversation, what there was of it, consisted 
of brief, strenuous remarks of a purely busi- 
ness nature. 

But at intervals during the day Mary 
found herself returning to his words. Their 
effect on her mind puzzled her. It seemed 
to her that somehow they had caused things 
to alter their perspective. In some way Joe 
had become more human. She still refused 
to believe that Eddy was not all that was 
chivalrous and noble, but her anger against 
Joe for his insinuations had given way to a 
feeling of regret that he should have made 
them. She ceased to look on him as some- 
thing waTTto^- | ^a]evole^ j|G ^ TTwrsitr 

i bo 


recklessly slandering his betters. She felt 
that there must have been a misunderstand- 
ing somewhere and was sorry for it. 

Thinking it over, she made up her mind 
that it was for her to remove this mis- 
understanding. The days which followed 
strengthened the decision ; for the improve- 
ment in Joe was 
steadily main- 
tained. The 
indefinable some- 
t h in g in his 
manner which 
had so irritated 
her had vanished. 
It had been, 
when it had 
existed, so nebu- 
lous that words 
were not needed 
to eliminate it. 
Indeed, even now 
she could not say 
exactly in what 
it had consisted- 
She only knew 
that the amio 
sphere had 
changed. With- 
out word spoken 
on either side it 
seemed that 
peace had been 
established be- 
tween them, and 
it amazed her 
what a difference 
it made. She 
was soothed 
and happy, 
and kindly dis- 
posed to all 
men, and every 
day felt more 
strongly the 
necessity of con- 
vincing Joe and 
Eddy of each 
other's merits, 
or, rather, of 
convincing Joe, 
for Eddy, she 

admitted, always spoke most generously of 
the other. 

For a week Eddy did not appear at the 
office. On the eighth day, however, he rang her 
upon the telephone and invited her to lunch. 

Later in the morning Joe happened to ask 
her out to lunch, 

"I'm so sorry" said Mary; "I've just 
promised Eddy. He wants me to meet 

him at Stephana's, but " She hesitated. 

" Why shouldn't we all lunch together ? " 
she went on, impulsively. 

She hurried on. This was her opening, but 
she felt nervous. The subject of Eddy had 

not come up be- 
tween them since 
that memorable 
conversation a 
week before, and 
she was un- 
certain of her 

** I wish you 
liked Eddy Joe/ p 
she said, " He's 
very fond of you, 
and it seems such 
a shame that — I 
mean — we're all 
from the old 
town, and — oh, 
I know I put it 

badly , but " 

u I think you 

put it very 

well/' said 

Joe ; " and if 

1 could like a 

man to order 

I'd do it to 

oblige you. But 

—well, I'm not 

going to keep 

harping on it* 

Perhaps you 11 

see through Eddy 

yourself one of 

these days/ 1 

A sense of the 
hopelessness of 
her task oppres- 
sed Mary, She 
put on her hat 
without replying, 
and turned to 


i mi: 



At the door 
some impulse 
caused her to 
did so she met his 
He was looking at 


glance back, and as she 

eye, and stood staring. 

her as she had so often seen him look three 

years before in Dunsterville— humbly, appeal- 

ingly, hungrily. 

He took- a- stcjft forward. A sort of panic 
seized her. Her fingers were on the door- 




handle. She turned it, and the next moment 
was outside. 

She walked slowly down the street. She 
felt shaken. She had believed so thoroughly 
that his love for her had vanished with his 
shyness and awkwardness in the struggle for 
success in New York. His words, his manner 
—everything had pointed to that. And now 
— it was as if those three years had not been. 
Nothing had altered, unless it were — herself. 

Had she altered ? Her mind was in a 
whirl. This thing had affected her like some 
physical shock. The crowds and noises of 
the street bewildered her. If only she could 
get away from them and think quietly 

And then she heard her name spoken, and 
looked round, to see Eddy. 

" Glad you could come," he said. " I've 
something I want to talk to you about. It'll 
be quiet at Stephano's." 

She noticed, almost unconsciously, that 
he seemed nervous. He was unwontedly 
silent. She was glad of it. It helped her 
to think. 

He gave the waiter an order and became 
silent again, drumming with his fingers on 
the cloth. He hardly spoke till the meal 
was over and the coffee was on the table. 
Then he leaned forward. 

" Mary," he said, " we've always been 
pretiy good friends, haven't we ? " 

His dark eyes were looking into hers. 
There was an expression in them that was 
strange to her. He smiled, but it seemed to 
Mary that there was effort behind the smile. 

" Of course we have, Eddy," she said. He 
touched her hand. 

" Dear little Mary ! " he said, softly. 

He paused for a moment. 

" Mary," he went on, " you would like to 
do me a good turn ? You would, wouldn't 
you, Mary ? " 

" Why, Eddy, of course ! " 

He touched her hand again. This time, 
somehow, the action grated on her. Before, 
it had seemed impulsive, a mere spontaneous 
evidence of friendship. Now there was a 
suggestion of artificiality, of calculation. 
She drew back a little in her chair. Deep 
down in her some watchful instinct had 
sounded an alarm. She was on guard. 

He drew a quick breath. 

" It's nothing much. Nothing at all. It's 
only this. I — I — Joe will be writing a letter 
to a man called Weston on Thursday — 
Thursday, remember. There won't be any- 
thing in it — nothing of importance — nothing 
private — but — I — I want you to mail me a 
copy of it, Mary. A — a copy of-^-r 

Vol. jrlu. — 21* 


She was looking at him open-eyed. Her 
face was white and shocked. 

" For goodness' sake," he said, irritably, 
" don't look like that. I'm not asking you 
to commit murder. What's the matter with 
you ? Look here, Mary ; you'll admit you 
owe me something, I suppose ? I'm the only 
man in New York that's ever done anything 
for you. Didn't I get you your job ? Well, 
then, it's not as if I were asking you to do 
anything dangerous, or difficult, or " 

She tried to speak, but could not. He 
went on rapidly. He did not look at her. 
His eyes wandered past her, shifting rest- 

" Look here," he said ; " I'll be square 
with you. You're in New York to make 
money. Well, you aren't going to make it 
hammering a typewriter. I'm giving you 
your chance. I'm going to be square with 
you. Let me see that letter, and " 

His voice died away abruptly. The ex- 
pression of his face changed. He smiled, 
and this time the effort was obvious. 

" Halloa, Joe ! " he said. 

Mary turned. Joe was standing at her 
side. He looked very large and wholesome 
and restful. 

" I don't want to intrude," he said ; "but 
I wanted to see you, Eddy, and I thought I 
should catch you here. I wrote a letter to 
Jack Weston yesterday — after I got home 
from the office — and one to you ; and some- 
how I managed to post them in the wrong 
envelopes. It doesn't matter much, because 
they both said the same thing." 

" The same thing ? " 

" Yes ; I told you I should be writing to 
you again on Thursday, to tip you something 
good that I was expecting from old Longwood. 
Jack Weston has just rung me up on the 
'phone to say that he has got a letter that 
doesn't belong to him. I explained to him 
and thought I'd drop in here and explain to 
you. Why, what's your hurry, Eddy ? " 

Eddy had risen from his seat. 

" I'm due back at the office," he said, 

" Busy man ! I'm having a slack day. 
Well, good-bye. I'll see Mary back." 

Joe seated himself in the vacant chair. 

" You're looking tired," he said. " Did 
Eddy talk too much ? " 

" Yes, he did. . . . Joe, you were right." 

"Ah— Mary!" Joe chuckled. "I'll tell 
you something I didn't tell Eddy. It wasn't 
entirely through carelessness that I posted 
those letters in the wrong envelopes. In 
fact, to be absolutely frank, it wasn't through 




carelessness at all. There's an old gentleman 
in Pittsburg by the name of John Long wood, 
who occasionally is good enough to inform mc 
of some of his intended doings on the market 
a day or so before the rest of the world knows 
them j and Eddy has always shown a strong 
desire to get early information loo. Do you 
remember my telling you that your pre- 
decessor at the office left a little abruptly ? 
There was a reason. I engaged her as a 
confidential secretary, and she overdid it. 
She confided in Eddy. From the look on 

alteredj but it's no use, I give it up, Vm 
still just the same poor fool who used to hang 
round staring at you in Dunsterville/' 

A waiter was approaching the table with 
the air 3 which waiters cultivate, of just 
happening by chance to be going in that 
direction. Joe leaned farther forward, speak- 
ing quickly, 

" And for whom," he said, " you didn't 

' 1 M LiUk iiACK AJ 1HL UlHCt, Jit. bAiis. HUAKitLV. 

your (ace as I came in I gathered that he 
had just been proposing that you should 
perform a similar act of Christian charity. 
Had he ? " 

Mary clenched her hands, 

" It's this awful New York ! " she cried. 
11 Eddy was never like that in Dunsterville." 

" Dunsterville docs not offer quite the same 
scope," said Joe, 

" New York changes everything/ 1 Mary 
returned, " It has changed Eddy — it has 
changed you." 

He bent towards her and lowered hi^ voice, 

" Not altogether/' he said, " I'm just the 
same in one way. I've tried to pretend I had 

Digitized by \jt 

care a single, solitary snap of vour fingers 

She looked up at him. The waiter hovered, 
poising for his swoop, Suddenly she smiled. 

** New York has changed me too, Joe/* she 

" Mary ! " berried, 

" Zc pill, sarc/' observed the waiter, 

Joe turned, 

11 Ze what ! " he exclaimed. " Well, I'm 
hanged t Eddy's gone off and left me to pav 
for his lunch ! That man's a wonder ! When 
it comes to brain- work, he's in a class by him- 
self," He paused, il But I have the luck/* 
he s^d'Orjninal from 


From Behind the Speaker's Chair. 


(new series.) 
Illustrated by E. T. Reed. 

BY a self-denying ordinance 
ministerial Hb Majesty's Ministers, whilst 
sacrifices, generously making provision 

of £400 a year by way of 
salary for their fellow -members, do not share 
in this twentieth-century demand on the 
public purse. They already have their 
salaries, in several cases inadequate to the 
magnitude of their public service and the 
sacrifice of pecuniary gain open to them in 
private practice, Mr, Gladstone's official 
income never exceeded £5.000 a year, and was 
intermitted by recurrent periods of Opposi- 
tion. Needless to say, he never availed 
himself of the pension which lightens the lot 
of some other statesmen 
when temporarily or per- 
manently out of office* 
Had he obeyed his earlier 
impulse and sought a 
career in the Church, he 
would inevitably have 
reached the Primacy,, with 
its comfortable £15,000 a 
year* Had he followed 
family footsteps and de- 
voted himself to com- 
merce, there would have 
been no reasonable limit to 
his income. He was con- 
tent with what, spread 
over the years of active 
service, was a mere pit- 

The late Sir William Har- 
court provided an example 
even more striking of the 
pecuniary sacrifice men 
are willing to make for 
the chances and changes 
of political life. When, 
in 1868, he entered Parlia- 
ment as member for the 
City of Oxford, he neces- 
sarily relinquished practice 
at the Parliamentary Bar, 
which brought him in an 

increasing income that had already reached 
the nice rotundity of £12,000 a year. He 
enjoyed considerable spells of office, but he 
never recaptured the average of lost gains* 

With exceptional equanimity 

law the Attorney-General and the 

officers Solicitor-General may regard 

of the the Quarterly Pay Sheet of the 

crown. House of Commons with lofty 

indifference. Whilst the Prime 

Minister's salary stands at £5,000 a year, the 

Attorney-General draws £7,000, and Mr* 

Solicitor-General £1,000 a year less. But 

that is not all. By a Treasury Minute dated 








July 5th, 1895, it is set forth that this salary 
is to cover all work of whatever nature done 
by them as Law Officers for any department 
of Govern merit j " except contentious busi- 
ness." To the learned gentlemen concerned, 
more blessed than Mesopotamia is the phrase 
lt contentious business." The Minute sets 
forth that the term applies to (a) cases in 
which the head of a Government Department 
directs a Law Officer to be instructed ; (b) 
cases in which the Solicitor to the Treasury 
or the solicitor of a Government Department 
thinks it desirable that a Law Officer should 
appear \ (c) cases concerning prolongation of 
patents in the Privy Council ; (rf) informa- 
tions on the Crown side and Customs cases ; 
(c) cases in the Revenue Paper ; and (/) cases 
in the Court of Appeal, House of Lords, and 
Privy Council. 

If time and money were matters of moment 
in Downing Street it would seem that savings 
would be scored if, instead of setting forth 
particulars of what constitutes ** contentious 
business," it were stated what services ren- 
dered by the Attorney-General and the 
Solicitor-General do not come within that 

As matters are arranged, the fixed salaries 


i o ogle 

of the Law Officers are mere substrata upon 
which are built up incomes that must shock 
John Burns, who is understood still to retain 
belief in his famous axiom that a wage of 
£500 a year should satisfy any man, Sir 
Edward Clarke in one year, by means of what 
may perhaps not disrespectfully be called 
pickings, increased his statutory salary by 
something more than fifty per cent. As for 
the Attorney-General, if he does not draw 
£12,000 a year he begins to think there is, 
after all, something in the assertion about 
the country going to the dogs. In the 
year 1892-3 Sir Charles Russell received 
payment for services as Attorney - General 
amounting to £13,000. This affluence was, 
however, no new experience for the great 
advocate. A friend who, after his death, had 
access to his fee-book gives me some inter- 
esting particulars. Taking silk in 1872, 
Russell 's income of £3,000 a year speedily 
trebled. From 1885 to 1893 it averaged 
£16,000 a year. In 1893, when re-appointed 
Attorney-General, he within the space of 
twelve months earned £32,826, This far 
exceeds the high -water mark of his successor 
in the Attorney-Generalship, In the financial 
year ending March 31st, 1904, Sir Robert 

Finlay, in addi- 

: ,. , . - - ■ ■ — n tion to his salary 

as Attorney- 
General, received 
in fees £12,921 
7s, 9d,, making a 
total of £19,921 
7s. gd- His col- 
league, Sir 
Edward Carson, 
Solicitor - General, 
drew a total in- 
come of £13,068 
19s. 3d. These 
odd shillings and 
pence show how, 
if the Law Officers 
of the Crown look 
after them, the 
pounds will take 
care of them- 

To the four- 
seated below the 
gangway on either* 
side of the House 
these payments 
seem to soar be- 
yond the dreams 
of avarice But 


THs bar," Original from 



in most cases the accept- 
ance of the position of Law 
Officer to the Crown actu- 
ally involves a loss of 

It certainly 
the did so in the 
woolsack, case of the 
present dis- 
tinguished holder of the 
office. For this reason there 
was some doubt at the Bar 
whether there was prospect 
of Sir Rufus Isaacs' rich 
pasture land being, so to 
speak, parted out in small 
allotments among his pro- 
fessional brethren on his 
accepting office* When , dis- 
regarding the consequences 
as Lord Milner would, with 
greater emphasis, say, he 
took that step, it was ex- 
plained that he was moved 
by ambition to succeed to 
the Woolsack, There is a common impression 
that in the case of a vacancy on that ancient 
settee the Attorney-General has by right the 
refusal of the appointment. There is, how- 
ever, no such provision, either in custom or 
in statute, Sir Rufus Isaacs may in due course 
of affairs reach the haven of forensic desire ; 
but it will not be by right of heritage as 
Attorney-General. As a matter of fact, the 
Attorney-General of to-day has no lien upon 
any judicial office. Up to recent date, on a 
vacancy occurring in the Chiefship of the 
Common Pleas he had the refusal, The office 
being abolished, the Attorney-General is left 
all forlorn, going back to his old work at the 
Bar, as did Sir Robert Finlay and Sir Edward 
Carson when their party crossed the floor of 
the House. 

The report of the Kitchen 

feeding Committee of the House of 

the Commons for the current Ses- 

hungry, siou is not out at the present 

time of writing. I hear from 

an authoritative source that it is not likely 

to lift the gloom that, from a financial point 

of vieWj lies low over the enterprise of feeding 

the House of Commons. Without special 

knowledge of the circumstances the Man in 

the Street, from whom few secrets are hid, 

would think the Committee had the softest 

job known in the business of catering. They 

trade rent free, pay no rates, have coal and 

gas gratuitously supplied, with generous 

allowance for breakages. They 


have a 


monopoly of custom, and the extent of their 
dealings appears from the fact that in a recent 
Session they served a total of 138,677 
meals. These included 25/764 luncheons, 
37,697 dinners, and 113 suppers (which last 
item indicates wholesome abstention from 
all-night sittings), 61,376 teas, and 3,727 
peckings served at the bar. Their outlay , 
being net cost of provisions ? cigars, wines , 
and other drinkables, was £13.202 4s. lod. 
In the turnover they took a trifle over 
£16,000, including £414 table money, 

This is good enough, but the scale is turned 
by the item of wages and salaries, which, 
together with miscellaneous expenses, bring 
the debtor side of the balance-sheet up to 
£17,584 whilst the earnings are £16,092. 
This looks like beggary, an undignified posi- 
tion averted by a subsidy of £2,000 a year, 
voted out of the pocket of the taxpayer* 

Last Session the concern was run at a loss 
of £50 a week. It was in various ways an 
unfortunate season. The stars in their 
courses fought against Siscra, represented on 
the Kitchen Committee by its Chairman, 
Colonel Mark Lock wood. The so-called 
summer was more than usually atrocious, 
leading to the almost absolute discontinuance 
of Tea on the Terrace, a fruitful source of 
revenue. Then there was an outbreak of 
the Suffragettes j leading, as mentioned in 
another column, to the restriction of the 
attendance of ladies not only at tea-time but 
during the luncheon and dinner hours- 




An even more potent incidence 

the liquor in diminution of revenues of 

bill. the Kitchen Committee is 

the modern tendency, whose 
growth is alternately deplored and extolled 
by the Chancellor of the Exchequer, towards 
diminution in the consumption of wine 
and spirits. Inheriting and maintaining 
the proud tradition of predecessors, the 
Kitchen Committee have a wine-cellar of 
which a host may well be proud. What 
they lament is the increasing lack of custom. 
Time was when the champagne bill of a 
Session was a dozen times larger than it is 
to-day. In other words, where a few years 
ago favourite brands were ordered for the 
dinner-table by the dozens, a single bottle 
now serves. Concurrently a change has taken 
place in the matter of the fashion of dining. 
Time was when the British legislator, in 
addition to staying himself with flagons, 
ordered a succession of meat courses. Members 
of the present House are, from the point of 
view of the Committee, too apt to content 
themselves with the shilling luncheon or 
dinner, the institution of which is the pride 
of the Chairman's declining years. 

The outlook is at the moment black. It 
would be interesting to see what would 
happen supposing the business were trans- 
ferred to the direction of one of our catering 
firms who, unsuccoured by subsidy, paying 
rent; taxes, and other items, satisfy their 
customers and pay their shareholders divi- 
dends at rates exceeding twenty per cent. 

During the predominance of 

tea on the a Unionist majority under the 

terrace. Premiership of Mr. Arthur 

Balfour, Tea on the Terrace 
came to be one of the principal features of the 
London season. On a fine afternoon, with 
the westering sun glittering on the river and 
shining on the ancient fabric of Lambeth 
Palace, there was no livelier spectacle in 
London than the throng of brave men and 
fair women who peopled the Terrace of the 
House of Commons. The function was 
privily encouraged by the astute Ministerial 
Whip, who found in it a useful ally in the 
task of " keeping a House." With an over- 
whelming majority, a certainty of triumphing 
in the Division Lobby, there grew in Minis- 
terial ranks a tendency to dangerous laxity 
of attendance. Members came down for 
questions and remained to hear any important 
speech promised. Also they might be 
depended upon for divisions following full- 
dress debate. But it is in the idle hours of a 

sitting that danger lurks for the master of 
Parliamentary legions. It is a snap division 
that occasionally places him in embarrassing 
position. Tea on the Terrace proved a 
bulwark against regrettable incidents of that 
character. Members tempted by desire for 
a lounge at their club or a drive through the 
Park, where they would find kith and kin, 
made discovery that for some hours of a 
summer afternoon their own Terrace was the 
hub of the social universe. They accordingly 
stayed to enjoy its attractions, and, inci- 
dentally, remained within sound of the 
division bell. 

When dibacle followed on the General 
Election of 1906 there came to Westminster 
a large contingent unfamiliar with what the 
French call " a five o'clock." Oddly enough, 
the accomplishment of the doom of the once 
popular function was delayed by the action 
of the Labour members. They had heard 
and read much of Tea on the Terrace. Now, 
among other privileges pertaining to their 
new estate, they might share its joys. Or 
did the initiative come from their wives ? 
However it be, during the earliest summer 
of the first Parliament of King Edward VII. 
the Labour members and their wives, the 
latter bringing neighbours dressed all in their 
best, like Sally on Sundays in our Alley, 
made up little parties at tables set in the 
best positions on the Terrace, drank tea, 
ate buttered buns, and, in due season, toyed 
with strawberries and cream. 

Even this patronage did not suffice to save 
a fading fashion. Last Session the end was 
hastened by continuance of deplorable 
weather. The Terrace is not a desirable 
place when the east wind blows, and is im- 
possible when south or west brings rain. 
Such were the prevalent weather regulations 
of last Session. Whiles there was a fog. 

Another influence conducive 
no suffra- to the decline and fall of Tea 
gettes. on the Terrace are the condi- 
tions pertaining to the admis- 
sion of ladies to the precincts of Parliament. 
Since the Suffragettes took to denouncing 
mankind from the stone benches in the 
Central Hall, chaining themselves to the 
grille in the Ladies' Gallery, and making 
dashes on to the floor of the House past 
the paralyzed Serjeant-at-Arms, effectual 
measures have been taken to defeat their 
strategy. Entrance to the Lobbies from Old 
Palace Yard is achieved only after running 
the gauntlet of sentinelled police at the outer 
door. Save when personally conducted by 




a member, progress is stopped at the farther 
limit of the corridor leading to the Central 
Lobby. The innocent suffer with the guilty. 
The wives and daughters of members and 
specially- in ited guests are treated on a com- 
mon footing. All may not be Suffragettes 
with designs on the peace of Parliament, 
But all are women, and as such must suffer. 

Inconvenience is felt even 

ladies in more acutely in respect of 

Quarantine, dining at the House than of 

taking Tea on the Terrace, 
Ladies bidden to the feast are kept in custody 

conducted by their host to the Inner Lobby, 
where they might catch glimpses of statesmen 
of world-wide renown. Thence they were led 
to the feast by private ways trodden by 
members, leading by a staircase to the Terrace. 
They, in fact, walked about as if the inevitable 
had arrived and they were actually members 
of Parliament. In these degenerate days, 
having escaped from quarantine in the corri- 
dor, they are ignominiously smuggled on to 
the level of the Terrace by a special 

This was constructed a few years ago (at 
the expense of the nation) in order to meet 


m the corridor until their host — " Sought 
Out " he may be named, borrowing the proud 
appellation bestowed upon ancient Jerusalem 
by the Prophet Isaiah — is hunted up, The 
hapless man is probably in one of the remotely- 
situated private dining-rooms, whither he 
ha^ escorted earlier arrivals. It is necessary 
for him to hurry back to the corridor, rescue 
the new-comer, and, having escorted her to 
the dining-room, rush back on receipt of 
news that other of his guests have arrived. 
Before the scare the custom was for ladies 
invited either to tea or to dinner to assemble 
in the Central Hall, whence they were 

the objection of crusty members who com- 
plained that their hurried passage up the old 
staircase on their way to save the State in 
the Division Lobby was obstructed by ladies 
passing up and down. The class of members 
responsible for this fresh indignity may be 
recognized on the Terrace by their seclusion 
within a space labelled " For Members Only/' 
marked out to the left of the old doorway 
giving access to the Terrace. During the 
heyday of Tea on the Terrace there they sat 
— il Like tigers in a cage/' as a well-known 
lady visitor once described them — glaring 
at the gay throng seated or walking, ever 




chattering and laughing, adown the long 
length of the river-girdled promenade* 

Among the votes which appear 

queen eliza- in the Civil Service Estimates 

beth as A is a mod est one on account of 

matrimonial the Historical Manuscripts 

agent* Commission. This is an unpaid 

body of gentlemen including 

among their 

labile v° g wair 

number the 
Master of the 
Rolls, the Earl of 
Rosebery, and 
Lord Morley of 
Blackburn, Their 
mission is to 
ascertain what 
manuscripts cal- 
culated to throw 
light upon sub- 
jects connected 
with the Civil, 
Ecclesiastical, or 
Srientifir history 
of the country 
are to be found 
in the collections 
of private per- 
sons or in public 
Every Session 
volumes are pre- 
sented to Parlia- 
ment containing 
copies or extracts 
from this trea- 
sure trove. The 
first publication 
took place forty 

years ago. In the meantime opportunity has 
been provided, at a trifling cost to the pur- 
chaser ^ of acquiring a library of rich and rare 
books. The pity of it is the enterprise is 
so little known that the circulation of the 
precious volumes falls far below their value. 

Hatfield House has proved a mine of wealth 
to the Commissioners, No fewer than twelve 
portly volumes have been gleaned in its 
archives. In the last, just issued from the 
press, I find a delightful story set forth in a 
correspondence between Queen Elizabeth 
and the Emperor of Russia, not at that time 
known as the Czar, It appears that His 
Majesty, having so many children he did not 
know what to do t resolved to invoke the 
assistance of the Virgin Queen to secure a 
wife for one of his sons, Elizabeth accepted 

Matrimonial ACJr 


the commission with a zest for matrimonial 
matters not unfamiliar with elderly maidens. 
" After overlooking the estate and qualities 
of all those noble families fit to be engrafted 
into your Majesty's stock/' she writes, under 
date October 5th, 1602, " we have found out 
a young lady, being a pure maiden nobly 
descended by father and mother, adorned 
with graces and extraordinary gifts of nature, 

of conv enient 
years, between 
eleven and 
twelve y of whom 
we are resolved to 
make you an offer, 
that if God in- 
cline the hearts 
of the young 
couple to like one 
another the 
mutual bonds of 
friendship may so 
be knot close to- 
gether, 17 She pur- 
poses to u send a 
special Ambassa- 
dor in order to 
deal freely in all 
things necessary 
in an affair of this 
importance.'* As 
Russia is not 
accessible by sea 
before May, the 
Queen, fearful of 
the enterprise 
falling through, 
beseeches the 
Emperor to "be 
pleased to sus- 
pend from em- 
bracing any other course until you have 
heard what our Ambassador can say/' 

Unfortunately the story ends where, in 
this fascinating fashion, it begins. Beyond 
a letter addressed to the British Agent at 
Moscovy enclosing the letter for the Emperor, 
the story, like that of Cambuscan Bold, is 
left half told. It appears from this second 
communication, written by Sir Robert Cecil, 
that a ship being unexpectedly discovered 
bound for Russia, and the envoy not being 
ready, it was determined to present the 
Queen's letter through the resident English 

" For the contents of the same," writes 
the diplomatic Sir Robert, " if you be required 
you may pretend to be ignorant, or otherwise 
use it at your bt:3t discretion/' 


OWN. 1 * 


Tke "S.P.B." 

(Society for tlic Propagation of tkc Beard.) 

By J. WILLSHER, Secretary. 

In the pairs of photographs of each personage reproduced in this article the 
larger portrait is identically the same as the smaller one, except for the 

addition of a beard. 

HAT a lamentable sacrifice of time, money, energy, 
and temper is involved in the shaving of the chins of 
the British nation ! In its monetary aspect alone last 
year it is estimated that twelve million pounds 
sterling was expended in daily recurrent efforts to 
efface the beard — " Nature's glorious insignia of 
manhood." A scientist has calculated that a man shaving until he 
is eighty has mowed down twenty-seven feet of hirsute stubble. 
Think of the waste ! 

" Why is it," inquired a distinguished foreign Ambassador, " that 
you English generally shave your beards, when both your present 
monarch and his predecessor set an example by letting them grow ? " 

There was a time when the chins of the male portion of the 
nation assumed the appearance of that of the reigning King. As 
one historian remarks, " The Royal portrait reflects a general fashion 
from which only the disloyal or the indifferent departed." 

In the time of Elizabeth beards were of the most varied and 
fantastic cut. 

Charles II. was the last British monarch, until Edward VII., to 
wear any hair on the face, and that only a moustache of the 
tiniest proportions. About 1848 it was regarded by some of the 
Continental Governments as a badge significant of democratic 
sentiments, and as such was interfered with by police regulations. 
But the fashion grew, and in the "'sixties" and "'seventies," and 
even the " 'eighties," every other gentleman you met wore a beard. 
Why did the fashion change ? Why is everyone now clean-shaven 
as to the chin — all except a million or so, including His Majesty 
King George, several dukes, many members of Parliament, the 
leading financiers of the day, the leading artists, the leading 
merchants, Mr. G. Bernard Shaw, and Mr. A. B. Walkley? 

Only the other day one individual, indignant that the Royal 
example was not more widely followed, wrote a letter to the 
newspapers calling upon all loyal subjects who were able to 
do so forthwith to grow beards. Since then a Society for the 

Original from 


V0L3U.— 99L 

inal from 



Society for tbe fcropasation 
of tbc JSearo. 



31&t May, mi 

Dear Sir: 

In upitt of the example set by many of 
tne nast illustrious and notable men of the day, we ob nerve 
with regret that yen continue to hav& recourse to the un- 
natural practice of razing the hair from your face, 

Bo you not think from the enclosed that 
thin practice is in your case at the expense of far greater 
dignity and come 11 no bb ? 

you not permit me to enrol you an a 


member of thin society? 
I am 

Tours faithfully, 


Propagation of the Beard has been formed, 
with a view to promote the practice 
of beard-wearing. In order to convert 
numerous clean-shaven members of the com- 
munity, photographs have been specially 
prepared, showing how greatly beards would 
improve the personal appearance, and these 
photographs, which have been sent to each 

of their origi- 
nals, we are 
now able to 

The correspondence 
which the accompanying 
letter has elicited is, of 
course, private, and we are 
not, therefore, able to 
gratify our readers by re- 
producing the comments 
of some of our most cele- 
brated public personages 
who have been thus 
generously presented with 
beards ; nor are we able 
to delineate the expressions 
of delight— nay, of rapture 
— on the countenances of 
their wives, mothers, and 
sisters who thus behold the 
objects of their reverence 
and devotion adorned bv 
il face-fittings * J luxuriant 
beyond their wildest 

The point for the public 
to consider is whether their 
public men would not fre- 
quently cut a more im- 
posing figure if they 
eschewed a razor. Opinions 
may % f ary in Mr t Asquith's 
case, although it is not to 
be denied that the slight 
recession of chin which 
marks the Prime 
Minister's physiognomy might be effectu- 
ally diminished if not entirely concealed 
by a hirsute growth ; but Mr, Balfour 
would undoubtedly gain in majesty by the 
addition of a beard. It is not as though 
criticism were being directed for the first time 
to the facial adornments (or the lack of them) 
of the Leader of the Opposition. " Mutton- 
c h o p s i d e- 
wh inkers of the 
most aggra- 
vating type/ 3 

Secretary . 



THE "S-P.Br 


was Mr, T. P. would be a 
O'Connor's de- great political 
scription of asset, for 

Photo. RuMtfl t& Sim*. 

Mr. Balfour's growth twenty years ago. He 
has shaved them since then, but there is 
nothing to take their place. In succeeding 
some years ago to his noble uncle's place as 
Prime Minister, should he not also have had 
Lord Salisbury's noble beard in reversion ? 

The case of Lord Rosebery is more difficult. 
Perhaps he is one of those few men who appear 
to better advantage clean-shaven, although 
the patriarchal note which has lately appeared 
in his lordship's writings and speeches is 
hardly in keeping with a visage still juvenile 
in spite of its crown of white hair. 

But with a bearded Viscount Haldane, who 
shall say that the caricaturist has not been 
robbed of some of his more salient advan- 
tages ? Take Mr. F. E + Smith ; is not his 
extremely juvenile appearance a drawback ? 
Would not Mr. Winston Churchill, in a flowing 
beard, command greater reverence on both 
sides of the House ? 

Beards are not popular in Wales, otherwise 
it is difficult to account for the absence of 

one on the chin 
of the Chan- 
cellor of lll€ 
Exchequer. It 




Photti Elliott tt FYjf- 

beards are no longer associated with revo- 
lution ? as they were in the middle of the 
last century, but with virtue and benignity. 
Mr. Birrell bears some likeness to the late 
Anthony Trollope in his beard* The fact that 
we already have one bearded Conservative 
statesman of fashion in the person of Sir 
Gilbert Parker might tend to dissuade Mr. 
Austen Chamberlain from growing one. Could 
not Sir Arthur Conan Doyle be induced to 
grow a beard, and so complete his physical 
unlikeness to his immortal Sherlock ? Again, 
would Mr. Anthony Hope's admirers be fewer 
if he ceased to shave ? 

The same query might be asked of two surh 
divines as the Bishop of London and the Rev. 
R. J. Campbell, Would Sir Arthur Pinero's 
plays be more closely linked with those of Mr, 
Bernard Shaw if he should grow a beard ? 
The present Admiral of the Fleet is a bearded 
man, and a beard becomes most sailors. Why, 
then, should Lord Charles Beresford hesitate 
even at so late an hour ? A beard would 
signalize the 
beginning of a 




as that he has 
achieved in the 


Photu k. n. urn. 

Navy. And Mr. Seymour Lucas would be no 
less successful an artist if he cultivated a 




It is actually 
alleged against 


I'hato. flfUMuo, 

beards that they are unhygienic, ** Beards 
collect germs j which are thus readily con- 
veyed to the 

mucous mem- 

become the 
propagators of 
disease/' This 


Fhoio. JifofiMfe 

statement, penned by a person who perhaps 
has tried to grow a beard and failed, is often 
quoted as an argument for shaving. 

Is there any truth in all this ? (( If I 
thought/' writes Mr* Lowther, the Speaker 
of the House of Commons, to the secretary 
of the* Society for the Propagation of the 
Beard , " it was uncomfortable or unhealthy 
to wear a beard I should have shaved mine 
off twenty-six years ago." As a matter 
of fact, there is no truth in the sanitary 
argument — it is just the other way. 
Beards serve as both internal and external 
protectors of the throat, as Nature intended 
they should. Physicians often recommend 
that the beard should be allowed to grow on 
the chin and throat in cases of liability to 
inflammation of the larynx or of the bron- 
chia ; and moustaches and whiskers are 
reckoned useful for prevention of toothache 
and nervous diseases of the face. 

The real enemy to beards is fashion. And 
yet this requires some explanation, because 
some very 
persons — as, 
for example. 


Ph»u>. Kin* & Valtnf, 





the founder 
of the Bache- 
lors' Club — 

months 1 lime) 
a revolution 
will have 

Photo. Elliott <£ Pry, 

wear beards. Of course, the explanation is 
that it is the fashion to look young, and 
beards are supposed to tend to make one look 
old. Beards confer dignity, and this is not 
a dignified age. Beards are formal, and this 
is not an age of formality. 

But another attack on beards by the 
redoubtable Mr. Frank Richardson is more 
serious. He calls them " face-fittings." In 
one respect General Ulysses Grant and Mr. 
Arthur Bourchier join hands and hearts, for 
while the former averred, '* I shaved off my 
beard to please my family, and never was so 
uncomfortable in my life/' the latter states : 
" I grew a beard to please the public, and for 
six months I was never so happy*" 

Let but His Royal Highness Prince Arthur 
of Connaught.Lord Spencer, Lord Howard de 
Wulden, Mr. Cyril Maude, and Mr. Seymour 

Hicks grow 
beards, a n d 

('ir >&\ in >i\ 


Photo. DfeJUm 


happened and 
the whole 
face (or at 

Photo. EUiM * Wakrg. 

least half the 
face) of Eng- 
land will be 


PKuto. K. H MVU, 

by Google 

Original from 







Author of " Ezra the Mormon*" 
Illustrated by Sydney Seymour Lucas. 

[The attention of the reader is invited to the fact that the writer of this story, who is a well- 
known authority on Mormon history and customs, vouches for its accuracy. The events described, 
which actually took place, throw a strange light on a quest ion which has recently been brought so 

prominently before the public eye] 


HE Mormons told me this 
was heaven/' said the Gen- 
tile boy, pushing his hat to 
the back of his head and 
ruffling the curly hair over 
his perplexed forehead. u It 
strikes me, Awilda, Mor- 
monism can make Utah somewhat like the 
other place at times." 

The girl looked at her young admirer with 
eyes of reproof, 

11 Perhaps you are unhappy/' she whispered 
softly, (t because you have not joined our 
community. What could be more like 
Paradise than this lovely scene ? " 

She stretched her arms as if to embrace 
the country landscape. They were seated on 
a bank thick with the stems of ballooning 
dandelions. Above their heads humming- 
birds whirled among the while tops of 
blossoming locust trees. In the distance the 
blue Salt Lake gleamed like an azure mirror, 
" Your community ! " cried the hot- 
blooded youth, with indignation. " Do you 
know that the servant in my little house is 
one of your Bishop's sixty-three children, and 
his mother one of seven wives ? Under the 
sway of Brigham Young you and your 
people are only slaves, It maddens me to 
think your parents are scheming to marry 
you to that polygamous old * saint/ Boaz 
Tucker. His father was convicted as a ring- 
leader in the Mountain Meadow Massacre, 
and a bounty was offered for his head ; so 
the son comes of a cruel and scheming family* 
Perhaps you don't know his mother was 
seared with a hot iron cattle-brand by her 
better-half } for the terrible crime of declining 
to keep his saddle in her parlour." 

:ed by COOgle 

Walter Harrison's voice shook with scorn f 
for he loved Aw i Id a madly. Already he had 
breathed many heresies into the ears of the 
Mormon maiden, whispering that if she would 
fly with him to Gentile lands he could save 
her from the shame and degradation of her 
faith. She lived in a rambling old farm- 
house, which looked so peaceful it was hard 
to believe it had reared a horde of polygamous 

Awilda's eyes were full of mystery as she 
spoke to him in the low, musical voice which 
set his pulses beating. 

t( If Boaz Tucker were not a great saint* 
I should dread the thought of marriage with 
him. I can't help loving you, Walter, but 
Boaz is chosen of the Lord, He is a Seer 
and Revelator ; atl his wives will receive 
exaltation in the future life. I know you 
don't believe in his miracles. Is it because 
you are a lit Lie jealous ? To-morrow a great 
proof will be given to show he is superhuman, 
He proposes lo walk on the face of the waters, 
as our Lord did on the Sea of Galilee, before 
hundreds of spectators." 

An expression of celestial rapture added a 
fresh beauty to Awilda's face. She was so 
young and trustful that Walter sickened as 
he listened to her praise of the arch-hypocrite 
and trickster, who was scheming to ruin her 
life. The Gentile knew well enough that 
Elder Tucker would treat his fresh plural 
bride no better than the cows lying in the 
shade near a flowering slreich of marsh at the 
head of the broad, sunny meadow. There 
the redwings fed their young, while the 
bobolinks sang merrily* Walter had heard 
with disgust Elder Tucker essaying to speak 
in unknown tongues, describing the vehement 
nonsense which issued from his lips as " the 




language of the ancient people of Zara- 
hemlah." Boaz was the equal of Joseph 
Smith in his willingness to descend to jugglery, 
exciting large congregations by boastful 
pretence of false revelations. 

" If I could prove to you, Awilda, that 
Elder Tucker is not what he represents 
himself to be , but a man capable of infamous 
deception, would you throw off the shackles 
of this creed and come with me to the old 
country, where one wife is the queen of one 
man's home ? I have made all necessary 
preparations for our escape^ and I have a 
strong body of friends ready to help me. Let 
the walking on the water 
be the test. If Tucker 
succeeds , I will go away 
and never see you again. 
Should he fail, will that 
decide you to break away 
from Mormon impostures 
and put your trust in 
me ? ,J 

Awilda's secret lover 
had done much to break 
down the priestly con- 
trol and Church supersti- 
tions which surrounded 
her young life. Deep 
down in her heart a 
doubt had sprung into 
life, though outwardly 
she still protested that 
the Elders were saints of 
God. Half in terror at 
her daring, she bowed 
her head in assent. 

11 You Englishmen/ 1 
she wh is pe red, * ' marry 
for love ; we Mormons 
marry for religion , and 
bear much for the sake of our rreed. 
Though all deny that polygamy 
causes suffering, they know it well 
enough. My uncle's two wives, who 
dress alike and profess to be as 
sisters, are really broken - hearted 
creatures. One has spells of being 
possessed by the Evil Spirit. Between 
ourselves, it is really jealousy. She 
suffers the agony of martyrdom 
when Uncle Sidney showers presents on his 
younger wife." 

A desperate longing to escape the awful 
fete in store for herself made Awilda powerless 
to resist the sudden fond embrace of her 
unaccepted Gentile lover. 

Show me exactly where the miracle is 

leased her rosy lips, " I shall be there with 
your concourse of godly people ; only my 
fate, as well as Tucker's^ will hang in the 

Awilda rose stealth ily, glancing round to 
make sure they were unobserved. Then she 
led him to the selected spot for the Prophet's 


manifestation of power. A stretch of si ill 
water just below the breast of a dam was 
chosen as the holy site, where Mormon eyes 
must behold the Divine completeness of 
Elder Boaz, 

" Many of our women envy me the chance 
of marrying such an exulted man/' Awilda 

t° take place," whispered Waiter, as he re- told Walter, her fingers still pressed in his 





burning palm. " Fancy the honour of being 
chosen by one who tells us on oath he was 
caught up like Moses into an exceeding high 
mountain, and saw God face to face ! Oh, 
you smile ; you are destroying my faith with 
your smile. ,, 

" Thank Heaven for that ! " exclaimed the 
young man, warmly. They were standing 
among the fragrant sage-bushes, and the 
magpies screamed as if in derision, while a 
rock-squirrel peeped at them furtively, the 
only witness to Walter's heresy. 

" Boaz will walk on the water," added the 
girl, " at nine o'clock to-morrow morning. 
People are coming from great distances, and 
will start at daybreak. They will have to 
be up with the meadow-lark." 

Her listener appeared suddenly absent- 
minded; his brain was working quickly. 
The time was short in which to circumvent 
this blasphemous display. The moments 
snatched with Awilda were always fraught 
with danger. That morning her parents were 
absent, but even now some hidden spy might 
be watching the Gentile in the Mormon 
camp. Awilda read in his eyes the unspoken 

" I must be getting back to the farm," she 
said. " It is terribly rash of us to meet by 
broad daylight." 

" The opportunity was too good to miss, 
sweetheart," he answered, the spice of danger 
adding colour to a romance so real and earnest 
that he would have given his life for the loved 


A last word of good-bye, and Awilda crept 
back to the home of rigid discipline. Her 
thoughts strayed far from the menial tasks 
which lay to hand. Mechanically she dusted 
the big rocking-chairs, the Book of Mormon 
which lay on the central table, and Brigham 
Young's bust above the mantelpiece. When 
her mother returned, she kissed the bright 
face as she imparted a piece of news. 

" You are to be sealed to Boaz Tucker early 
this fall, my child. He tells me that in return 
you will be permitted hereafter to pass by 
the gods and angels who guard the gates of 
elcrnity. You will not only be a glory to 
your husband and offspring, but a priestess- 
queen unto your Heavenly Father." 

Awilda was silent, and her mother thought 
she was struck dumb with awe. 

" I wish," said the girl at last, " that he 
looked more like my idea of a saint. I 
should like to see some spiritual light in his 
eyes. It is unfortunate they are so small and 
foxy. He is old, too. I can't help disliking 
his shiny, bald head, pimply face, and fat, 


well-fed figure. He talks so much of himself 
in his addresses. Somehow his wives never 
look happy, and his children are puny little 

Mrs. Vance flung up her hands in horror 
at her daughter's rebellious tone. 

" I am grieved you should speak such 
foolish infidel words," she exclaimed, shaking 
Awilda by the shoulder. " You must be in 
an awful state of blindness. It is terrible 
to think your mind is so honeycombed with 
error. If you give way to such ideas, Satan 
will get great power over you. Outward 
appearance matters little, and to-morrow 
you will see his face shine with exceeding 
lustre like Abinadi's. The faith of Boaz is as 
a live coal from off the altar. Your father's 
wives are happy enough, but we none of us 
walk about grinning from ear to ear. We 
are conscious of our hidden crown of glory; 
that is all-sufficient." 

Refusing to discuss the matter further, 
Mrs. Vance set Awilda a heavy task of ironing, 
by the kitchen window bright with house- 
plants. As the slender young figure swayed 
backwards and forwards over the board, the 
girl looked as fresh as the clean white linen 
under her hand. 

All that day the love scene of the morning 
dwelt uppermost in her mind. It was of 
Walter she thought when the rich glow of 
sunset cast its crimson reflection over the 
distant lake into which the golden orb sank, 
leaving the sky a sea of rainbow hues. Awilda 
breathed the Gentile's name as her eyes 
rested on the great evening star, which 
dimmed the lesser lights above the strong 
outline of mountain slope. 

Her father, smoking his pipe after the 
evening meal in the bosom of his plural 
family, bade all rise early to attend the great 
ceremonial of the water-walking miracle. 

" Boaz Tucker will spend the whole night 
in prayer, and anoint himself with sacred 
oil before treading in the blessed steps of the 
Most High," said Joseph Vance. " He 
deserves a generous outfit of wives, enough 
to ensure him the very highest rank among 
the gods." 

Joseph looked as he spoke at the won- 
drously-fair, flower-like face which had 
excited the much-married Elder's admira- 

That night there was little sleep for Awilda. 
Her mind was confused as to the truth or 
falsity of her parents' religion. Walter's 
words appeared so sane compared with the 
fulsome rhetoric of Mormon teachers. She 
had beer told to don her smartest attire, but 




it was for Walter's eyes that she made herself 
especially beautiful. 

" It may be the last time the poor boy will 
ever see me/' she thought, sorrowfully. 
fl Elder Tucker would never bring all these 
people to witness a miracle he could not 
perform. Walter will be convinced, and he 
will leave me to my fate." 

From her bedroom window she could see 
lines of people streaming to the spot on the 
outskirts of the meadows. Even the old 
hens and their young ones were making 
their way to the stretch of water, as if in 

Vance, with his large following of women 
ant! children, started in procession from the 
farmhouse through rosy hedges of pink 
weeds, scaring noisy flocks of blackbirds 
from the cat-tails, 

Boaz Tucker had certainly selected a 
picturesque spot. The exquisitely-tinted 
grasses waved like spirit- forms around his 
massive figure as he approached the scene 
of his coming exploit* The chewink's cheer- 
ful voice greeted him without a note of doubt, 
while no cynicism reigned in the hearts of 

his earnest spectators. Two pairs of eyes 
alone regarded him with unfriendly gaze. 
The girl he had marked down for his property 
thought she had never seen him look so gross 
and malignant, while Walter 3 whose love for 
her was pure and strong, glared at the portly 
form from a respectful distance. 

" Come to be converted, Gentile boy ? " 
queried a satirical Elder, noting the young 
man's pale face. 

Walter looked as if he had passed the night 
out of doors. His clothes were dishevelled, 
his eyes weary, He was too engrossed in 
watching the water to heed the passing 

lie fore addressing this open-air congrega- 
tion, Boaz moved towards the Vance family. 
In one large, soft hand he crushed Awilda's 
lilt It- finL'iTs ; the other he lay heavily on 
her shoulder, while he gazed hungrily at the 
fairness of her skin, 

* You know," he whispered, " what I have 
planned for your salvation, my little one. I 
have become a ^od, and have a world of my 
own, peopled with my offspring, I shall rule 
over my wives and children during the eternal 

'she could sek lines of 

Vol. xliL-23. 








i^irs, possessed of everlasting prerogatives 
and power," 

Awilda caught her breath. She was con- 
fused and torn. Possibly her parents were 
right, this was a man of mysterious holiness. 

She felt in a dream as she listened to 
the singing, while Boaz stood at the water's 

edge with hands outstretched in blessing. 
He beckoned the great multitude to gather 
round, that none might lose sight of this 
marvellous manifestation. Raising his voice, 
which was lusty as the bellowing of an ox, 
he spoke to the multitude : — 
"OncOBg»ffalfPyiTil>eloved brothers and 




sisters, the heavens have been opened, and 
angels have come down to bring a dispensa- 
tion to man. Demons are cast out, for the 
Latter Day Glory has dawned upon the earth. 
This morning we have not come to this calm 
pool for baptismal purposes, though we are 
under the influence of the Spirit. I have 
reaped a great harvest. To-day I will prove 
that I am a chosen vessel. The corrupting 
theories of the Gentiles " (here he shot a look 
of disdain in Walter's direction) " will be for 
ever silenced. They cannot reach the celes- 
tial rapture of Mormon miracle- workers. 
Recently I had a revelation. A voice from 
heaven bade me walk upon the breast of the 
waters. When none have been near to see, 
I have traversed lakes and rivers in this 
miraculous manner. Now I have come to 
prove, in the open, the truth of my words. 
These waters are deep and I cannot swim, 
therefore I entrust myself wholly to the hosts 
above. I pray that absolute silence may 
reign as I pass from shore to shore." 

A terrible hush of breathless expectation 
fell upon the crowd. Then, with the greatest 
assurance, Boaz Tucker walked forth upon 
the water, reaching in safety the centre of 
the pool. Suddenly, to the confusion 
and amazement of his disciples, he dis- 
appeared with a loud splash, as if some gigan- 
tic crustacean had pulled him under. In 
the general agitation which followed it was 
believed he would have a narrow escape from 
drowning, but the Prophet, who had protested 
he could not swim, now struck out boldly for 
land. Everyone was talking at once and 
running about, which enabled Walter to edge 
up and whisper in Awilda's ear. 

" My work," he gasped. " Remember your 
promise, Awilda — your promise of yesterday." 


Boaz had many excuses to make for his 
lamentable failure, but did not offer to repeat 
the experiment. He protested that some un- 
believer in the ranks of spectators had ill- 
wished him, but the power to swim had been 
miraculously granted, thereby saving a 
consecrated life. 

On returning to the farmhouse, Mr. Vance 
forbade his family to mention the distressing 
circumstances of the morning. Elder Tucker 
had promised a large consignment of cattle to 
Awilda's father on the day of the sealing. 

When twilight fell, the girl crept to a secret 
receptacle hidden in the bank where the 
dandelions grew, under an old wagon-wheel, 
rusted with age. There she found an expected 
letter from Walter Harrison. 

by Google 

" My Own Little Saint " (ran the words), 
— " I knew well enough that sly dodger had 
something up his sleeve, so, when darkness 
fell last night, I stripped and swam every 
inch of the pool. I soon discovered some 
invisible means of support just beneath the 
muddy surface of the stagnant pool. At inter- 
vals of a little less than a yard tripods of wood 
were firmly fixed in the bottom, the tops of 
which formed a safe foothold within two inches 
of the surface. These tops were skilfully 
coloured to match the turbid water, further 
ensuring their invisibility. I surreptitiously 
removed one of the tripods from the centre, 
where the pool was deepest. I did not mean 
Tucker to drown, and had a rope, hidden by 
the shore, in case of emergency. I have 
since discovered that he was known in his 
youth as a most expert swimmer, before he 
settled in these parts. 

" Meet me to-night, if you can escape, at 
the gate beyond the orchard. I shall be 
waiting under the apple trees with a couple 
of swift horses. We will gallop away like 
the fastest ranchmen to the outside life of 
the world. So far, you have only known it 
by the distant whistle of an express train on 
its .way from New York to San Francisco. 
Love and marriage, as we English know them, 
await you far from the harems of Mormon 
Elders. I shall watch all night on the chance of 
your coming. — Yours for all time, Walter." 

The family at the farm were wonderfully 
silent that night, and retired early. No bolts 
and bars modernized this rural homestead. 
It would be the easiest possible matter to 
steal out to the green orchard, and pass 
under the fruit trees to the quiet lane where 
Walter had proposed to wait. Awilda gave 
no second thought to Elder Tucker ; her 
mind was made up — she would shake the 
dust of Utah from her feet. She felt little 
regret at leaving the parents who had brought 
her up in so hard a faith. Her secret farewells 
to the chickens and cows were the only tender 
episodes of this home-leaving. To the hen- 
roost and barn-yard she blew a kiss as she 
crept out at midnight. It was strange to 
feel this was good-bye for ever to the tame 
old rooster who fed from her hand and the 
downy balls of fluff constituting his family. 
Like a shadow she passed to the trysting- 
place, where Walter caught her in his arms 
and, kissing her passionately, lifted her to 
the saddle. A whiff of strong salt air came 
from the distant lake ; the warm, dreamy 
night was full of magic, and the lovers' 
spirits were buoyant as the smooth surface 
of the waters they would never view again. 
Original from 





Beyond, a world of enchantment awaited the 
coming of this youthful pair* Hazy moun- 
tains rose ghost-like over the visionary scene, 
their secret fastnesses mysterious as the doors 
of love. Awilda whispered that she felt as one 
of the white gulls spreading their wings and 

flying away, only she was leaving behind the 
dark shadows of polygamy. With rapture 
in their hearts as the shy light of dawn silted 
through the silent trees, they passed to their 
" Holy of holies/' far from the border-line 
of danger. 

by Google 

Original from 


Its Stories, Legends, and Romances. 

Wherever possible, the cards reproduced belong to the period of the story attached. 



many the ace of spades and 
not another is head of the 
pack, and in proof of this they 
point out that it is upon the 
ace of spades, as representing 
the whole pack, that His 
Majesty's playing-card tax 

is levied. The maker used to engrave a plate 

for twenty aces of spades ; the 

printing was done by the Go- 
vernment at Somerset House, 

and one pound was paid by the 

maker for every sheet of aces so • 

printed. The tax has now been 

reduced to threepence. Spadille, 

as this card is called at ombre 

and quadrille, still bears the maker's name. 

In the wonderful card-game described -in 

Pope's " Rape of the Lock," when the 

antagonists sit down 

At ombre singly to decide their doom ! 

"Let spades be trumps," she said, and trumps they 

Spadillio first, unconquerable lord ! 

Led off two captive trumps and swept the board. 

But spadille, for all his conquests and all 
his pride, will probably best be known as the 
card of the Corsican Witch's cauldron, the 
ace of spades being one of the ingredients, 
together with two adders, twenty-four spiders, 
seven toads, and a ewe lamb's heart, of the 
appetizing stew which Alexandre Dumas 
imagined as assisting to foretell the wondrous 
career of the infant Napoleon. By what is 
probably a coincidence, the ace of spades 
also figures as a chief card in the so-called 
Napoleon's Book of Fate. 

With his broad sabre next, a chief in years, 
The hoary majesty of spades appears ; 
Puts forth one manly leg, to sight revealed, 
The rest his many -coloured robe concealed. 
The rebel knave who dare? his prince engage 
Proves the just victim of his royal rage. 

But in France at one time the " hoary 
ttajesty of spades " was represented by the 

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" fretful irritability " of Jean 
Jacques Rousseau, while in 
America the same card threat- 
ened to be " Lafayette " for all 
time to come. Indeed, the four 
kings, like their flesh-and-blood 
originals, seemed likely to lose 
all prestige in the New World, and in 
1848 Republican packs began to be manufac- 
tured in New York, having neither kings nor 
queens. The president of hearts was George 
Washington ; of diamonds, John Adams ; of 
clubs, Franklin ; and of spades, Lafayette. 
In this pack one of the queens is Venus, 
modestly concealing her charms ; and the 
others are respectively Fortune,' Ceres, and 
Minerva. This was only following the prin- 
ciple of the French, who, at the time of the 
Revolution, filled the places of the card-kings 
by four philosophers — Moltere, La Fontaine, 
Voltaire, and Rousseau ;- and those of the 
four queens by four virtues — Prudence, 
Justice, Temperance, and Fortitude. Thus 
in France the player would cry : " Je joue le 
grand philosophe de pique ! " while in America 
the lucky player would win a rubber by his 
possession of the patriot of spades. Occa- 
sionally, however, it may not be doubted, 
habit got the better of him, and the king would 
creep into his conversation almost as often as 
the martyred king's head crept into the 
Memorial of Mr. Dick. 


As for " the Imperial consort 
of the Crown of Spades/' the 
" Minerva " of the Republican 
pack, she is famous as having 
led to the conviction of the 
murderer of Captain Roger 
South in 1823. A pack of 
cards with which he had been 
playing with his .victim, and known to 
have been purchased by him, was found 
in the pocket of South's shooting - coat. 
They were exhibited in evidence with the 
bloody print of the murderer's thumb across 
the face of the queen of spades. It com- 




pletely destroyed the prisoner's alibi, and, 
although the Bertillon system was then un- 
born, the bloody thumb-mark was accepted 
as damning testimony, and the man was 


The " rebel knave " — he of 
spades — will be eternally associ- 
ated with one of the most dra- 
matic incidents of the reign of 
Elizabeth — the discovery of the 
Throgmorton plot and the ex- 
pulsion of the Spanish 
Ambassador. For a long time 
the jack of spades was always popularly 
associated with the conspiracy to place 
Mary Queen of Scots on the English throne. 
" Throgmorton," says Froude, " had a house 
in London at Paul's Wharf, to which he 
returned and became the medium through 
which Morgan communicated with the Queen 
of Scots, and the Queen of Scots with Mendoza. 
The secret police observed him frequently 
leaving the Spanish Ambassador's house. 
He was watched. Other suspicious circum- 
stances were noted, and an order was issued 
to seize his person and search his rooms. 
When the constables entered he was in the 
act of ciphering a letter -to Mary Stuart. He 
darted up a staircase, destroying the paper 
on his way. He had time to entrust a casket 
of compromising letters to a maid-servant, 
who carried them to Mendoza, and also to 
cipher a few hasty words on the back of the 
knave of spades and to fling it into the casket 
by way of explanation." Froude summarizes 
the message, which ran : "I have sworn I 
know naught of anything found here, that 
they must have been left by someone who 
seeks my deadly hurt. Be not afraid of my 
constancy. They shall kill me a thousand 
times ere I betray. . . ." But for this fate- 
ful message, Mendoza, the Spanish Ambas- 
sador, would not have been apprised of the 
arrest and would not have been on his guard. 
He was able to warn the other conspirators, 
and, as a consequence, " there was a flight of 
Catholics over the Channel thick as autumn 
swallows." Throgmorton succumbed to the 
rack, confessed all, and was executed. Men- 
doza was banished from the kingdom. 


The ten of spades is " Buffalo 
Bill's card." On one .occasion 
the celebrated Colonel Cody 
(" Buffalo Bill ") laid a wager 
of a thousand dollars that he 
would pierce every pip on the 
ten of spades with a revolver- 

by Google 

bullet at twelve yards. This feat he is 
actually said to have accomplished ; the card 
so pierced was put up for auction, and 
sold to one of Buffalo Bill's admirers for 
a hundred and fifty dollars. It eventually 
found its way into a " dime museum " of 
curiosities in Chicago. 


It was on the nine of spades 
that the great Italian statesman, 
Cavour, wrote, " Ayez de respect 
pour les petites cartes," and gave 
it back as a souvenir and a motto 
to an Englishman from whom he 
won ten thousand francs in an 
evening, at a time when this card 
was his highest trump. Cavour always spoke of 
the nine of spades as his " lucky card." We 
are told that he was consumed by a passion 
for whist. " It dominated his whole being, 
and he could not live unless it formed a part 
of his daily food. His skill in the game was 
undoubted ; if he had a fault, he was too 
venturous, perhaps — too dashing." During 
the sittings of the Paris Congress he never 
missed a night's attendance at the Jockey 
Club. His gains were enormous ; they were 
computed at more than twenty thousand 
pounds. How much of his good luck was 
due to the nine of spades is not recorded. 


In July, 1866, Lord Lans- 
downe, father of the present 
peer, was enjoying a game of 
whist in the drawing-room of 
White's Club, his partner being 
Colonel Taylour, Conservative 
Party Whip. Spades were 
trumps, and one was called for. 
Lord Lansdowne began fumbling with his 
cards, and at length, as if unable to follow 
suit, played a heart. His partner sus- 
pected a revoke, but at that instant the 
cards fell from his lordship's hand to 
the floor, luckily face downwards. Colonel 
Taylour picked them up. Lord Lansdowne 
thanked him, nervously rearranged them, and 
resumed play. Again the cards fell from his 
hand. " I feel very ill," he murmured ; 
" have the goodness to summon me a cab," 
With difficulty he was carried into the 
vehicle. On alighting, a card slipped out 
from his clothing on to the pavement, and 
was picked up by a friend. " Ah," faintly 
whispered the peer, " there is that card that 
distracted me so." It was the eight of 
spades. Lord Lansdowne was borne upstairs 
to his bed to die, and the friend returned with 
the fatal souvenir to the club. 






The seven of 
spades enjoys a 
celebrity as 
being the only 
known survivor 
of the pack of 
cards used by 
the ill - fated 
Marie Antoi- 
nette, and given 
by her to her 
little son the 
Dauphin. They 
were fur a long 
time his only 
playthings, but 
they were taken 
away by his 
j a i 1 e r, the 
brutal Simon, and sold to a deputy who, for 
this very purchase, is said to have incurred 
the suspicions of the authorities as a Jacobin. 
The cards were seized and destroyed, all but 
two — one of which afterwards came into 
the possession of the Comtc d'Artois (Charles 
X,), and the other, the seven of spades, was 
given to an Englishman of rank, who in turn 
presented it to Lady Schreiber, 


Why is this card called " Poor 
Dick tJ ? Here is the story : — 

There was once a club in St, 
James's Square called the Rox- 
burgh, where high stakes were 
the order of the day and night. 
On one celebrated occasion, 
we are told, a quartette of 
players, Harvey Combe, i6 Tippoo " Smith, 
Ward (the member for London), and Sir 
John Malcolm, sat down to play on Monday 
evening, and continued with scarce a break 
through two nights and a day, separating at 
last at eleven o'clock on Wednesday morning. 
They had only been playing two hours when 
word was brought to Combe that his partner 
in business had just died, tidings which 
caused him so much emotion that he trumped 
his partner's trick with the six of spades. 
" Poor Dick/' he said, as he drew the trick, 
and gazed at the card absently. His luck 
now suddenly turned, and he began winning, 
until ultimately he had won from Sir John 
Malcolm the almost incredible sum of thirty 
thousand pounds. The protracted play prob- 
ably induced hallucinations, and at last 
Combe arose and cried out : " This is the 
fourth time running I have been dealt the six 

of spades, and I feel nervous. Why should it 
suggest Dick Reade ? " " Because you heard 
of his death when you were playing it, per- 
haps," suggested his partner. " Zounds ! " 
cried Com be. M When is Dick to be buried ? " 
" At noon to-day," said someone. He had 
just time to dart out to a barber's and a 
haberdasher's, and drive off in a hackney 
coach to his partner's funeral. Combe after- 
wards declared that he saw the dead man's 
face distinctly in the card. It is related of 
him that as he rose he declared to Sir John 
Malcolm, s< I must go now, but you shall have 
your revenge to-morrow." li Thank you," 
was the reply ; " another sitting of this sort 
and I shall be forced to return to India. 1 ' 


More than one whist enthu- 
siast has literally died in harness 
with the cards in his hands. 
Such was the M glorious fate " 
of the great Bath player, 
Lookup, who expired at <4 double 
dummy " ere he could play his 
last card, which happened to be 
the five of spades. In thin case, as in another 
already related, the card was " reverently " 
(or otherwise) buried with him, 


" Crockford 's Last Card." 
That was the inscription on a 
four of spades that once re- 
posed behind a small glass case 
in what is now the Devonshire 
Club. Yet Crockford was not a 
card-player, although his patrons 
reported that he occasionally 
played halfpenny nap with the chef and 
head-waiter ; but on the day that he retired 
a pack of cards was found in his pocket. 
He drew them out solemnly, saying, fi After 
to-dav I have done with these for ever. 
Woulid you oblige me, gentlemen, by sitting 
down with me at a rubber? " The persons 
addressed complied, and in some fifty 
minutes Crockford and his partner had won 
fourteen pounds at a modest shilling a point, 
Crockford threw the last card on the table. 
It was a four of spades. As proprietor of the 
chief gaming -club in the world, he had 
amassed a million of money. 


" There's no luck in the tray " 
is an old gambler's motto, men- 
tioned by most of the standard 
writers on card-games, but there 
is at least one instance on re- 
cord where the tray or three 
of clubs brougtrtcwlAJride ^0 a 




Fitzgerald, one of the ancestors of the present 
Duke of Leinster. He was in love with a 
certain heiress and beauty of the house of 
Ormonde, who, however, the story goes, was 
by no means in love with him, at least not in 
the beginning. The young lady, who was 
being wooed by another suitor, professed to 
be very superstitious, and resolved to leave 
her matrimonial choice to the cards, pre- 
mising that her decision would be final. A 
certain gipsy of renown, Blind Kate as she 
was called, who was, notwithstanding, no 
blinder than many other folks, was summoned, 
and the young lady's fortune publicly told. 
After being shuffled and sorted in the usual 
manner, the cards were then laid face down- 
wards on the table, and the two rivals were 
asked by the enchantress to draw their 
emblems, show them to each other and to 
none beside, and to return them to the table. 
Fitzgerald drew the three of spades and 
uttered an audible groan. His rival drew a 
lucky card, the seven of hearts. They then 
retired and the gipsy shuffled the cards and 
separated tttem into seven heaps, three in a 
row and one in the middle. In the midst of 
profound silence the lady was asked to draw 
the distant shadow of her husband from the 
centre pack. She promptly drew, and the 
cafd was the three of spades. She turned 
pale and the hag asked, " Will you now draw 
his shadow grown nearer ? " Again the 
cards were shuffled and again she drew a three 
of spades. " There is still a chance that it is 
another," croaked the old woman. And once 
more the cards were arranged, and yet again 
she drew the three of spades. They carried 
the young lady out in a fainting condition, 
and all agreed it was a most extraordinary 
and mysterious affair, until it occurred to 
the father of the damsel to follow Blind Kate 
and extort from her a confession. Her story 
was that the unsuccessful lover had attempted 
to bribe her into using a pack containing all 
sevens of hearts, which she, disliking his cha- 
racter, had effectually frustrated by employ- 
ing one containing nothing but threes of 
spades. It only remains to be said that the 
lady held to her promise and that her married 
life proved, despite her first predilections, to 
be of unbounded felicity. 


All card - players know that 
when turned up as the trump- 
card the deuce of spades is to 
be tapped for luck. " There's 
luck," saith the proverb, " under 
a black deuce." One possible 
exception there is to this 


proverb : the player must in no circumstances 
touch the card with his elbow. Whence was 
this superstition derived ? 


If the Duke of Cumberland 
had only had the ace of clubs 
on a memorable occasion at 
the public rooms at Bath, he 
was wont to say that he would 
have been twenty thousand 
pounds richer. " That card 
cost me a fortune." He was playing 
whist with three of the wealthiest men 
of the day, and was dealt such a splendid 
hand that he unhesitatingly made a bet 
of twenty thousand pounds on the game. 
The cards he held were king, knave, nine, and 
seven of trumps (clubs) ; ace and king of 
diamonds ; ace, king, queen, and knave of 
hearts; ace, king, and queen of spades. 
His partner did not hold a single card of any 
value. Yet the Duke was easily beaten ; he 
did not win one trick. The Duke's right- 
hand adversary held five small trumps, and 
the other eight cards in his hand consisted 
entirely of hearts and spades. To his left- 
hand opponent there was dealt ace, queen, 
ten, and eight of trumps, and queen, knave, 
ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four in 
diamonds. The Duke led a small trump, 
which his left-hand antagonist won and 
returned by a lead in diamonds. 

" What a ' Jeroboam ' hand the Duke of 
Cumberland must have held at Bath ! " 
exclaims the author of-." English Whist." 
He explains that in the early part of the last 
century, when fortune blessed any player 
with cards of overwhelming strength, he was 
said to be possessed of a ." Jeroboam " hand. 
The phrase is derived through the " Jero- 
boam " of claret at Oxford, a measure of 
magnitude, from the division of the tribes 
when Jeroboam obtained " ten of the tribes 
of Israel and his rival was left with only two." 
It was on an ace of clubs that Oliver 
Goldsmith inscribed an I U to Sir Joshua 
Reynolds, the intimation being additionally 
expressed by the three balls of Lombardy in 
silhouette, which has already been made 
familiar as a squiggle from another quarter 
in the pages of this magazine. 


" The King of Clubs " is fami- 
liar as the title bestowed by 
Johnson on the Club or the 
Literary Club, but the card itself 
is not without its special fame in 
literature, for has it not been 
sung by Pope in deathless verse ? 




The club's black tyrant first her victim died, 
Spite of his haughty mien and barbarous pride \ 
What boots the regal circle on hLs head, 
His giant limbs in state unwieldy spread ; 
That long behind he trails Ins pompous robe 
And, of all monarchs, only grasps the globe ? 

Which reminds us that these last two lines 
were amusingly but somewhat invidiously 
quoted by an American caricaturist who was 
portraying for the benefit of his countrymen 
the Coronation of King Edward VII. 


"Black Bess " 
is the common 
nickname of 
the queen of 
clubs, although 
in Lincolnshire, 
we are told, the 
card is known 
as "Queen 
Bess," One 
reason given 
strikes us as 
extremely un- 
soun d — " be- 
cause the 
Virgin Queen 
was of a 
swarthy com- 
plexion/' Now, 
if we know anything of the Virgin Queen it is 
that she was nothing of the kind. Another is 
that this was Elizabeth's favourite card, hut 
so far w r e have been unable io tome across 
any satisfactory explanation of the epithet. 
Perhaps some learned reader of The Strand 
may be able to elucidate the history of this 


Of the knave of clubs — 

. . , mighty Pam, that Kin^s and Queens 

And mowed down 
armies in the 
flights of loo, 

t^ere is both 
comedy and 
tragedy to be 

On the 13th 
of July, 1793, 
Jean Paul 
Marat, one of 
the blood- 
thirsty trium- 
virate which 
ruled France , 
was seated m 
a bath in his 

3 y Google 

house, surrounded by papers and various 
reminders of the Reign of Terror. Amongst 
these was a pack of Republican cards which 
had recently appeared, the publisher of which 
had dedicated them to Marat, One of these, 
the knave of clubs, he had removed to use 
as a book-mark. He was suffering from a 
skin disease contracted in the sewers, which 
made constant immersion in warm water 
necessary. Suddenly the door opened to 
admit a stranger* The stranger was Char- 
lotte Cor day y carrying concealed her fatal 
dagger. After the assassination all the relics 
of the tragedy were carefully guarded, 
and are preserved to this day, including 
Marat's pen and the valet de baton, who 
for some time afterwards gave the name 
of Marat to his race in all parts of 

But long before Marat's day the knave 
of clubs had a sinister reputation, George 
Coleman, in his essay on bC Cursing and 
Swearing," suggests that in place of oaths 
used at the card- table the gamester might 
be permitted to swear by the knave of 
clubs or the "Curse of Scotland/' At the 
game of loo Pam is the best card in the 
pack, as the right bower is at euchre, and 
when the holder of the ace plays it he always 
says, '" Pam, be civil." The holder of the 
knave then plays another club if he has one, 
and allows the ace to make the trick. On 
one occasion , at a card-party t Lord Palmer ston 
was indulging in some rather violent abuse 
in the hearing of the Baron de Bunsen, who 
called out humorously, " This is whist, not 
loo, but— Pam, be civil ! " which sally, we 
are told, the somewhat acrimonious Foreign 
Minister took in good part. 


A ten of clubs 
of curious pat- 
tern, here 
reproduced , is 
preserved in 
Paris as being 
the first card 
ever played by 
L e Grand 
M onarque, 
Louis XIV, It 
is one of a pack 
especial 1 y 
primed in his 
honour in 1647, 
when he was 
but nine years 
of age, and the 
tradition is that 




lerfiM*Yfr**Xa*r4*faf Atr±4f* 

when he cut the pack and turned up " King 
Pepin/' Cardinal Mazarin took this for an 
omen. When, therefore, the game was 
over, he drew the card from the pack and 
preserved it. At his death it was given to 
the King, and always found a place amongst 
Royal mementoes until 1789. It was framed 
in a lit tit gih frame, and was lately in the 
possession of the Com X esse dEu. 


Upon the 
back of a pic- 
torial nine of 
clubs long pre- 
served at 
Strawberry Hill 
the poet Gay 
scribbled a 
couplet from 
his " Beggar's 
Opera," added 
his signature, 
and gave it to 
a lady. Many 
poets have 
done the same 
thing before 
and since : it 
seems a 

favourite mode 
of enshrining couplets and even stanzas for 
preservation, although nowadays writing on 
the hacks of cards is a far more difficult 
process than it apparently used to be with 
our ancestors. 


The only card which is a relic 
intact of the Spanish Armada 
— perhaps the only card ever 
to survive over three centuries 
of immersion under the ocean— is 
the eight of clubs. This card was 
stated, a few years ago, to have 
been found in a small water-tight box or 
casket embedded in the shores of Tobermory 
Bay, together with several corns, a string of 
beads, and some metal buttons. One cannot 
but wonder at its history, especially when it 
is stated that it probably represented a sum 
of money — perhaps nine doubloons— which 
its possessor had won from the loser at a game 
of cards on board ship, it being the custom 
to give a gauge — what we should call an 10 U — 
in this manner. 


A German named Leu ben laid a wager 
that he would turn up a pack t-t cards in a 

certain order, beginning with the seven of 
clubs. Whether he was weak-minded or 
only intoxicated at the 
outset is not known, 
but he very shortly 
became insane, and 
was incarcerated in an 
asylum with his pack 
of cards. Here for 
twenty years he 
laboured to bring 
about the combination, 
devoting ten hours a 
day to the task, Once, 
in the seventh year, 
he bad almost suc- 
ceeded; but not until 
the four million two 
hundred and forty -six 
thousand and twenty- 
fifth time did complete 
success crown the 
poor wretch's efforts. 


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A playing-card collector in 
New York has a six of clubs 
whii h was shot out of a cannon 
by a Federal gunner into the 
rebel lines at Richmond. It 
wes not, however, the only 
card dispatched in this violent 
and unconventional manner — an entire 
pick was bound up in wire and cotton 
\vi-L(IiiiL r and seriously wounded a picket 
on its arrival. "It struck a sLone. and 
the cards were, in full view of a squad 
of nun dining, broken into two heaps, 
only the six of clubs uppermost. A cry 
broke forth, M Clubs are trumps ! " the pack 
\v;;s seized and dealt, and Johnny Reb was 
thanked for one of the most extraordinary 
and unexpected games of euchre ever played 
by soldiers or civilians.' 


The five of clubs is known 
as "Watsons lard,' 1 but 
considerations of chronology 
preclude the idea that the name 
has anything to do with the 
confidant of the illustrious 
Sherlock Holmes. Exactly how 
it came to be bestowed is another of 
the mysteries of card history, but the 
eponymous hero is said to be one Watson 
who, seventy or eighty years ago, won ten 
thousand pounds at faro through his choice 
of this card. 

Original from 





By the nickname of the 
4i Devil's Bed-post " the four 
of clubs is universally known, 
" It is an unlucky card," 
writes Mr. W. P. Courtney, 
'■ and the dealer who turns 
it up is always considered as 
cut off from all chance of winning the 
game." The four of clubs is also known 
as £1 Ned Stokes/ 1 and the following 
explanation of this name is furnished by 
the Gentleman's Magazine for 1798. A cer- 
tain person, the Rev. Edward Stokes, of 
Blaby, in Leicestershire , had four sons, two 
of whom, he was in the habit of saying, he 
had given to God and two to the devil, by 
which elegant expression he meant that two 
were clergymen and two were attorneys. 
One of the latter, Edward Stokes, of .Melton 
Mowbray, was a good whist - player, and 
known throughout the country as a desirable 
partner in the game ; but he had conceived 
a ridiculous a%*ersion to the four of clubs, 
which never failed to show itself on the 
appearance of that card. Hence it came to be 
known by the playful title of " Ned Stokes. ?T 

On one occasion the four of clubs underwent 
an extraordinary transformation, according to 
a once popular legend* It concerns the law- 
fulness of playing cards on the Sabbath, about 
which a great deal of discussion has raged for 
centuries. " I have never played cards on 
Sunday/ 1 declared the narrator, " since this 
card "—drawing a four of clubs from his 
pocket—' 4 well/1 will tell you the story/' It 
is probably the same story related by Robert 
Sou they and others. 

A coterie of ih respectable persons " quitted 
the opera-house late one Saturday night to 
play faro at a Mrs. Sturt J s. The game pro- 
ceeded for a short time, when a thunder-clap 
and a slight shock of earthquake discon- 
certed them* Still they played on, when all 
at once a player, laying down a club, cried 
out that it was the colour of blood. The 
others looked and declared that it was so. 
A heart was played, and it was black. Under 
such conditions play was impossible, and 
Sunday play, which had been visited with 
such awful portents, was abandoned ♦ 

There is another legend noted in one of the 
novels of Harrison Ains worth, where the 
clubs and hearts change colour, but the 
crime involved in this case was far graver, 
being no less than murder, to the perpetrator 
of which everything black seemed crimson, 
and vice versa. 


For ever linked with the name of the 
late James Payn is the three of clubs, Payn 
always called it 
his lucky card, 
An ancient 
card preserved 
with writing on 
the back is a 
three of clubs. 
The pack of 
which it formed 
a part was pre- 
sented by Lord 
Dunblane to 
the Prince of 
Orange, and 
played by him 
on the eve of 
crossing to Eng- 
land in the 
memorable vear 
of 1 788, After 
the game was 

over the Prince returned the pack to the 
donor, with his autograph on what Tom 
Hood used playfully to call the * b Old Dog 


The only notable thing about 
the deuce of clubs is that it 
is always considered a sign of 
five trumps in the dealer's 
hand. Some few years ago an 
attempt was made to shatter 
this superstition^ and a large 
number of Reform Club players were 
asked for their opinion* Strange to relate, 
almost without exception they supported 
it out of their own experience, although 
not one could offer even a shadow of reason 
for the fact, which is one of the oddest, 
as well as the longest- lived, superstitions 
on record. 

12m B*fc*rt& rvrwrn+Kfcr m 
btvifttm wiii \j re Jt Sh*ps * 

by Google 

Original from 

"As Far as They Had Got." 


By E. Phillips Oppenneim, W. Pett Riage, Arthur Morrison, 

H. A, VacnelL Barry Pain, Charles Garvice^ 

ana Ricnara Marsh. 

[In our May number we published an article entitled "A ' Follow- Mp- Leader ' Picture/' and in the 
following pages the same method is applied to the writing of a story, with an extremely interesting 
result, The ?tory was opened by Mr. E. Phillips Oppenheim, who alone of rhe contributors was 
not required to have a complete story outlined in his mind. This opening was then sent to Mr. Pen 
Ridge, who wrote the next chapter, and also sent a brief statement of the manner tn which he 
thought the whole story might have been completed. These two chapters were then sent on to 
Mr. Arthur Morrison, who, in the *amt manner, added his instalment and his idea of the whole 
story; and so on, chapter by chapter, till the whole was completed. It should, of course, be 
remembered that each writer had before hm merely the preceding chapters of the story, and knew 
nothing whatever of his predecessors' proposed methods of ending it. These explanations 
are give i as footnot s to each chapter, and will be found most interesting as throwing light upon the 
methods of work of the various eminent fiction^ writers, and the way in which a story evolves 
itself in such widely divergent manners in different minds,] 


E. Phillips Qppenheim. 
HE two young men, complete 
strangers to one another, 
exchanged during those few 
moments a gaze whose 
intent ness seemed to possess 
some hidden and mysterious 
quality* Spencer, in flannels 
and canvas shoes, bare-headed, his sunburnt 
face streaming with perspiration, paused for 
a moment, still gripping the pole with which 
he was propelling his somewhat clumsy craft. 
The man, a few yards away, who had attracted 
his attention seemed to have very different 
ideas of pleasure. Dressed in a spotless suit 
of white flannels, he was lounging in a wicker 
chair on the smooth-shaven lawn of a bun- 
galow hung with flowers, whose garden, with 
its little stone terrace, fronted the stream. 
He, too, was young and good-looking, but 
of another type. His lips parted in a faint, 
good-humoured smile, as Spencer once more 
raised his pole. 

11 Hot work, isn't it ? " he remarked, lazily. 

li Beastly,' 1 Spencer replied. 

The young man on the lawn touched a 

glass jug by his side, a jug whose frozen sides 

suggested ice, and in which green leaves 

were floating about, 

" Care for a drink ? " he asked, 
Spencer shook his head, 

Digitized by L-GOgle 

" We've sworn off, my pal and I, till we 
get her into the broad/ 1 he answered. u You 
haven't a cigarette to spare, I suppose ? " 

The young man rose from his seat and 
strolled gracefully down the lawn to the 
river's edge. 

" 4 Catch," he said, and threw the box which 
had been standing by his side into Spencer's 
outstretched hands. 

11 Awfully good of you,' 1 the latter declared. 
11 Sure you can spare them ? " 

The young man nodded. 

u Plenty more here ." he said, " Good da>\ IT 

Spencer sighed a little enviously as he 
settled down once more to his task. 

'* I never, in the whole of my existence/ 1 
he exclaimed, ** saw a fellow who seemed so 
jolly well satisfied with life ! " 

Across the cowslip and buttercup-starred 
meadows, now knee-deep in the mowing grass, 
now forcing his reckless way through a clump 
of hushes, a man was running as one might 
run behind whom came hot-footed all the 
strange and terrible shapes begotten of a 
Dantesque nightmare. Terror, livid and 
appalling, was in his face. Not all the burn- 
ing heat could bring a spot of colour to his 
cheeks. Even his parted lips, through which 
his breath came in gasps and groans, were 
white. Once he fell, but rose without pausing, 
hetdless-^f- 1^ blfiod. which dripped from his 




hand and knee. Spencer paused 
once more with the pole in his 

" What, in Heaven's name, is this 
corning across the 
meadow ? " he 

(i Its a mad- 
man I " his com- - 
panion cried. 
M Look! look!" 

The man who 
approached was 
running now in 
circles. His hands 
were raised to the 
skies, his head 
thrust forward. 
Once more he fell, 
but picked him- 
self up without 
a moment's hesi- 
tation. Nearer 

and nearer he came to the river 

" My God ! " Spencer faltered. 
'* It's the man from the bungalow 
— the man who gave us our cigar- 
ettes ! " 

The yawl was on the far side 
of the stream. Between it and 
the opposite bank the stream, which had 
widened considerably, was now about fifteen 
yards wide. The man who had been 
running paused for the first time as he 
reached the brink, but only for a second. 
Without any attempt at diving he simply 
threw himself in^ face downwards. With a 
dull splash he disappeared under the green 
weeds. Spencer, who had been stupefied 
with amazement, hauled up his pole and 
stepped on to the side of the boat, prepared 
to dive. His companion stopped him. 

rt It's all right, Spencer ! ?! he cried. Si He's 

They dragged him on board — a dripping, 
wild-looking object. They thrust him into 
their only seat. He cowered there, gripping 
its si'des, and in his fare were the unutterable 
things* Spencer and his companion, who 
stood staring at him, felt suddenly that the 
sun had left the heavens. The pleasant 
warmth was gone, the humming of insects 
and the singing of birds had ceased. It was 
another world from which this creature had 
come. They both shivered. 

14 What, in Heavens name, has happened ?" 
Spencer demanded. u What is the matter 
with vou, man ? * 

Digitized by GOOQK 





There was no answer. Spencer caught up 
his pole, 

fci Let's have her round,' 5 he cried. " We* 11 
get back to the bungalow, 1 ' 

Then the stranger broke his silence. He 
shrank back in his place like some stricken 
animal. In his eyes the terror blazed forth, 
a live and awful thing. 

41 No ! " 

By W. Pett Ridge. 
41 Very well, then; well take you in to the 
bank.' 1 

" Not there ! " he screamed, piteously. 
" Anywhere else, but not there. 1T He seemed 
to make a determined effort to pull himself 
together. i4 Give me something to smoke." 
(i It will compose what I call my brain." 

11 One of your own cigarettes ? ,j 

He seized the box eagerly, and, turning 
aside, made a scoop through the contents. 
They found a clumsy suit of overalls and, land- 
ing farther down, he changed rapidly, throw- 
ing the damp suit of flannels into the hollow 
of an old tree, 

ib Fix up here/' he urged, " and let's stroll 
across to the town, and you give me an oppor- 
tunity of repaying your kindness by standing 




you both tea. My story is in many respects 
a strange one." 

They exchanged a perplexed look as he 
washed his hands in the stream. The thrqe 
strolled along the path, that went by the side 
of a field. 

" You think I'm a gentleman," he went on, 
volubly, " and, of course, I want people to 
think so. I dress well, and I aspirate my such an extent that. I deceive a lot 
of people. As a matter of fact, before I came 
into my fortune I was a clerk. That was why," 
he beamed, excusingly, " why I was so upset 
when you talked about taking me in to bank." 

" How did you come by your money ? " 
inquired Spencer, interestedly. 

" It was at Folkestone I met her," he went 
on, mopping his forehead, " whilst I was on 
my holidays." 

" Met who ? " 

" House property she'd got, so far as I 
could gather, Brondesbury way. The agent 
was making up to her, but s he said she 
believed in love at first sight, or else not at 
all. The next morning I had the letter from 
the lawyers, and, believe me or believe me 
not " — he raised his bandaged hand impres- 
sively — " but since that time she'd gone 
clean out of my head, until a chance remark 
of yours brought her back again. * Awfully 
good of you/ you said to me, and those were 
the very words she passed when I paid for 
her to go down the lift. And now," he 
shouldered open a gate for them, " now I'd 
give every shilling of my twenty thousand 
pounds to see her again. Every penny." 

" Braddell," remarked Spencer, excitedly, 
to his friend, " this is something in your line." 

" Tell me," said Braddell, " do you know 
her name and address ? " 

" You're cold." 

" Do you know the agent's name and 
address ? " 

" Very warm," he commented, approv- 
ingly. " I made a note of that at the time, 
and placed it in the cigarette-box I gave you. 
Having secured possession of it, our task 
now is an easy one." 

" Your task, you mean." 

" You can understand my excitement, at 
any rate. If I'd lost sight of you, my last 
chance of finding her would have gone. 
And if you've suffered, as I have, from 
mothers with daughters who only want a 
chap because he's come in for a bit of cash, 
you'll realize, first, why I came down here 
for quiet ; second, why I'm so anxious to 
find her. If she did love me, undoubtedly 
she loved me for myself alone. I'll make it 

by V_ 



worth your while to assist me," he promised. 
" I sha'n't begrudge a thousand or two." 

The two gave a gasp in duet. 

" Here we are ! " as a lane took them into 
the main street. " You go on to the Unicorn 
and order tea and toast for three, whilst I 
pop in here and buy a hat." 

Spencer and Braddell obeyed, consulting 
eagerly as they went. Coming a few minutes 
later from the outfitter's shop in a sou'-wester 
that went well with his suit, the tenant of the 
bungalow crossed to the clematis-covered 
house which bore the words : " POLICE- 

He spoke sharply. 

" We've met before, perhaps. I am In- 
spector Wilmerson, of the C.I.D. Very well, 
then!" without waiting for an answer. 
" Two sunburnt young men in flannels and 
canvas shoes are wanted for the Moorgate 
Street bank robbery. They're about here 
somewhere. Keep a sharp look-out for them. 
Good day ! " 

" Why," cried the young constable, " dang 
my eyes if I ain't just seen two answering to 
that yer description making their way 'long 
to the hotel. And ain't yours a clever dis- 
guise too, sir ? I reckon I sh'd do pretty 
well at the Yard myself." 

" Go and arrest them," he ordered, " and 
bring them here. Take handcuffs ! " * 


By Arthur Morrison. 

Meantime, left together, Braddell stared 

at Spencer, and Spencer lifted his eyebrows 

and laughed. 

" What have we found now ? " Spencer 
remarked. " A madman, an actor, or what ? 
First, on the lawn by his bungalow, a par- 
ticularly easy-going man of good manners — 
a gentleman, in two words ; then a wild, 
dancing dervish ; and now a very common 
sort of bounder, who talks about ' repaying ' 
us for hauling him out of the water and 
putting him into dry clothes by * standing ' 
us tea — like a beanfeaster ! " 

" Odd enough," replied Btaddell ; %f but, 
actor or lunatic, I should say he was a pretty 
genuinely frightened man when he came 
bolting across the field. Why, he might have 
been bitten by the what d'ye call — the 
Italian spider." 

" Tarantula ? " 

u Yes. It's a nuisance to be stuck here 

* The man of the bungalow kept a small map in the cigarette 
case, giving the exact place of the buried money belonging to the 
Moorgate Street bank. The local police lock up the two young 
men, and their efforts, when released, to secure the vanished 
bungalow man are aided by a renewed acquaintance, in strange 
surroundings, with the cigarette-case.— W. Pett RlDGF. 




like this, but I'm rather interested, and there 
may be fun in seeing it through. We must, 
in fact, if we want those overalls back — he's 
pitched his flannels away ! " 

The coffee-room of the Unicorn had a 
small window looking over a corner of garden, 
and a bagatelle-table stood in the light of this 
window. Spencer took a cue and drove a 
ball or two idly up the board, while Braddell 
watched him. 

" He's slow in his choice of a hat," said 
Braddell, presently. " I'll stroll out and look 
for him." 

By the door of the tap-room the landlord 
stood in whispered consultation with a police- 
man. Braddell unsuspectingly sought to 
pass between them, and instantly felt himself 
seized from both sides — and handcuffed ! 

".What's the meaning of this ? " he de- 
manded, with some difficulty, in his blank 

" All right, all right," replied the young 
policeman, grinning and winking ; " sort of 
thing they alius say. You ain't obliged to 
say nothin', but what you do say'll be took 
down an' used in evidence. Come along ! " 

By the time that Braddell had gathered his 
faculties he was alone in a converted scullery 
of the little clematis-covered police-station, 
with bars across the window and a locked 
door. But in five minutes more the door 
opened before him and revealed his friend 
Spencer, handcuffed as he had been and 
accompanied by the Unicorn landlord and 
the same constable, reinforced now by a 
flustered sergeant, with crumbs on his 
whiskers, relics of a rudely-disturbed meal. 

It took a full half-hour of vehement protest 
ere the sergeant was persuaded to seek con- 
firmation of the prisoners' bona fides in the 
search of the yawl ; and it took a little 
longer still, and it needed telegrams, before 
the sergeant grew possessed of a suspicion 
that his subordinate had made the biggest 
blunder of a somewhat blundersome career. 
The official information as to the Moorgate 
Street bank robbery, too, could not, however 
stretched, be made wholly to agree with the 
appearance of the young men in custody ; ' 
while the utter disappearance of the alleged 
Inspector Wilmerson lent a certain weight to 
one angry protest of Braddell. 

" If there's a man wanted about here," 
Braddell had repeated again and again, " it 
is that man in the overalls. Go and get his 
flannels out of the hollow tree half-way along 
to the bungalow ; and, above all, go to the 
bungalow itself, man, and don't waste more 
time. It may be the Moorgate Street robbery, 

or it may be something else ; but, whatever 
it is, get there quick and find out ! " 

The sergeant was something less of a fool 
than his man. He hedged and made apolo- 
gies. Of course, if his man had been misled, 
it was only from an excess of zeal ; and in 
any case the gentlemen would understand 
that he, the sergeant, must keep them in 
sight till the matter had been cleared up. 
Had they any objection to going with him 
and the constable as far as the bungalow they 
spoke of ? 

" Objection ? Certainly not ! We want to 
go. Let's get along at once. There's an 
hour gone, and nobody can tell what you've 
missed. Come along at once. You've seen 
our letters and card-cases and the things in 
the yawl — you know we sha'n't run away. 
Come along, and we'll see it through with 

A few minutes later the two friends, with 
the sergeant, his helmet in place and the 
crumbs gone from his whiskers, and the 
young constable, his hopes of promotion gone 
by the board, were hurrying across the 
meadows toward the bungalow that had 
seemed so peaceful and innocent a retreat 
when they had last seen it. They came in 
view of the place from the back, and they 
spread wide as they approached, the better 
to intercept any retreat. Not a sound came 
from the bungalow, and nobody was in sight. 
They drew nearer, passed the flower-beds, 
and emerged on the sloping lawn. There 
stood the small garden-table, with the glass 
jug still on it, the wicker chair overturned by 
its side. The white-painted door of the 
bungalow was open wide, and as they 
approached the porch something on that 
white-painted door caused Spencer, who 
was ahead, to stop and point, turning with 
wide eyes to the others^ There, in the 
middle of the upper panel, was the print of a 
human hand — in blood ! * 

* The two perpetrators of the bank robbery have been lying 
in retreat at the bungalow. The chase is hot, and the cleverer 
thief, never yet convicted and wholly unsuspected, fears detection 
through his companion, an old convict. He resolves to murder 
him, thus to get rid of an inconvenient and dangerous partner 
and monopolize the plunder. Having attacked him from behind 
in the bungalow and left him for dead, he is disturbed by the 
approach of the boat. Fearing someone may land, he itations 
himself on the lawn and behaves as calmly as is described in the 
opening. The I. oat passes on. The man in the house revives, 
seizes a poker, and, covered with blood, staggers out, leaving the 
print of his hand on the door as he passes. He strikes the cool 
thief on the head, and the Inner, suddenly confronted with the 
ghastly figure of his associate— a bigger man and a far more 
desperate character than himself— runs wildly and erratically 
(because of the blow on the head). The other fellow, badly hurt 
and seeing strangers, fears to follow far. The thief given refuge 
in the boat invents a muddled yirn, and realizing trjat it is 
muddled plays up to the character of a crazy Cockney, and gets 
the two witnesses in the boat held up by the police while he 
bolts. After this, the story may take any one of a dozen courses 
or more. — Arthur M.okhi&un.: 





By Horace Annesley Vachell, 

Spencek exclaimed loudly : '* I can swear 

that wasn't there when he gave me the 


Braddell laughed. 

M My dear fellow, the door was open. The 

" Consider the facts. Hardly had my 
friend and I come to the conclusion that the 
tenant of this bungalow was seemingly the 
happiest and most contented of mortals, 
when we see him tearing across that field like 
a dervish/ 1 

u Genuinely frightened, too, "added Spencer. 

" He'd turned 
from a pretty 
shade of pink to 
the colour of 
skilly ! " 

1 Exactly. What 
could have fright- 
ened himsobadly? 
He was not act- 
ing then .although 
he acted after- 
wards, and badly, 
too, His cock- 


hand is painted on it, excellently painted 
too, and recognizable from the ri% ? er. ts 

** Things seem quiet enough here/' growled 
the sergeant, as he entered the bungalow. 
Braddell glanced for a moment at the iced 
drink on the wicker table, the overturned 
chair* and a newspaper lying upon the grass. 
He picked up the newspaper and followed the 
others into the bungalow. Two rooms in 
perfect order met his eyes. Behind these 
was a cooking-shed containing a gasolene 
stove. Everything inside the bungalow and 
the shed indicated exquisite neatness and 
cleanliness, not merely the neatness of the 
bachelor accustomed to camping-out, but 
the meticulous daintiness which expresses 
subtly a woman's love of her habitat. 

" Nothing here,'" said the sergeant, 

" Nobody/ 1 amended Braddell. <l Did you 
expect to find somebody, sergeant ? " 

" I thought it possible," 

Digitized by GOOQ I C 

Bl OOD ■ 

and -bull story about being a clerk and in 
love with a nameless woman was quite 
unconvincing. We left him sitting in front 
of an iced drink, which I notice to be un- 
touched — odd that ! — and reading this paper/ 1 

"Ah ! " said the sergeant. " You mean, 
sir, that something he read in the paper must 
have scared him/' 

" / have found the item, I think," said 
Braddell, as he handed the paper to the pro- 

Spencer said with pride :— 

u My friend, Mr, Braddell, is not altogether 
an amateur. He belongs to the Crimino- 
logists , a dining-club made up of men inter- 
ested in crime. Several KJC/s are members." 

" There's a column about the Moorgate 
Street bank robbery;' said the sergeant 

" Which accounts for his mentioning it 

later. Look through the 'Agony* column, 


Original from 



J 93 

11 1 have it, sir." He read aloud.: " - Red 
Hand. Your hiding-place is discovered. Bolt 
at once.' " 

" By Jove; he did ! •" exclaimed Spencer. 

41 We are wasting our time here," said the 
sergeant, irritably. * 

44 Not altogether," replied Braddell. "May 
I suggest that you leave your man here to see 
if anybody comes, rather thirsty, to enjoy 
that drink ? " 

" Remain here," said the sergeant, address- 
ing the constable. 

" Before we leave," murmured Braddell, 
suavely, " I should like to open that trunk, 
which I perceive to be locked. No doubt, 
sergeant, it has not escaped your eye that 
there is neither shaving-brush nor shaving- 
soap on the washing-stand." 

The sergeant coloured. 

" I don't mention all I see," he remarked, 
in an injured tone. He bent down and 
wrenched open the trunk. Spencer, peeping 
over his shoulder, whistled. The trunk was 
full of a woman's clothing. 

"I thought there was a woman in this," 
said the sergeant. " The sooner we lay hands 
on the man the better." 

" A bungalow built for two," murmured 
Braddell, absently. 

Leaving the constable in charge, the three 
men hastened back to the town, taking the 
tow-path as being the shortest way. At the 
first bend in the river Braddell halted and 
laughed. ' ' ' 

"We now know," he affirmed, with con- 
viction, ." where the young gentleman really 
is." He smiled genially at the sergeant 
and pointed down the long reach ahead. 

" Where ? " asked the sergeant. 

" On board our yawl." 

Spencer laughed also. 

" I don't see the joke," said the sergeant. 

" I don't see the yawl," added Spencer. 

" The yawl," replied Braddell, " is running 
down the estuary on an ebb tide, and the 
joke is on— us." 

" The beggar got us arrested so as to 
commandeer our boat," said Spencer. 
" Clever chap, eh, sergeant ? " 

"Tub like that can't have gone far," 
said the sergeant, hopefully. Obviously, the 
young gentleman was no ordinary criminal. 

" Tub yourself ! " thought Spencer, with 
a scornful glance at the sergeant's rotundities. 
Then he heard Braddell's pleasant voice 
saying : — 

" I suggest, sergeant, that we examine the 
young gentleman's flannels. They may be 

Vol. ,*_« 

44 He changed behind those willows," said 
Spencer, " and stuffed the wet clothes into 
that old pollard." 

A moment later Braddell was thrusting 
his hand into the hollow of the tree. He 
flung upon the grass the sodden flannels and 
a bundle of wet linen. With a smile he held 
up an unmistakable garment. 

" I am sure, sergeant, that this is no sur- 
prise for you. The young gentleman who 
was too modest to change before us is a 
young — lady ! " * 

By Barry Pain. 
" This," said the sergeant, frankly, " is get- 
ting a bit beyond mc." 

" What do you mean to do ? " asked 

" Get back to the station and get on the 
'phone. I can have our men on the look-out 
for that yawl all the way along. By the time 
we get the yawl we get the young lady, don't 
we, sir ? " 

" I presume so," said Spencer. 

11 1 don't," said Braddell. " Well, get on 
to the station, sergeant, and we'll go back to 
the bungalow. What about your man 

The sergeant caressed his whiskers thought- 
fully. "Well," he said, "we're short- 

" Very well," said Braddell. " We'll send 
him back and remain there ourselves until 
this evening. Did you say that you meant 
to have a constable sleeping at the bungalow 

" If I did not, it was in my mind." 

" Good. You might engage bedrooms for 
us to-night at the Unicorn. It will be all 
on your way." . 

They went back to the bungalow and dis- 
missed the constable, who was rapidly 
developing into a young man with a grievance. 

Spencer stretched himself at full length on 
the lawn. "And what do we do now ? " he 

* The young woman is not a criminal of sanguine hue, 
but a modern -miss who has bolted from an irascible guardian 
to escape a marriage of convenience, and has donned trousers 
so as to avoid attracting attention as a pretty girl alone in a 
bungalow. Upon the morning when the story opens she is 
expecting her lover, who will recognize the bungalow as he punts 
down th*» river by the red hand painted on the door, a happy 
symbol, inasmuch as the lover is a baronet, albeit rather im- 
pecunious. They have corresponded— since the young lady left 
home— by means of the Agony column in the Daily Mail. The 
young lady, not quite o( age, is a ward in Chancery, and the 
moment she is of age she hopes to marry her baronet, enjoying 
the while a quiet life in the bungalow, punctuated by visits from 
her beloved. The constable left in charge arrests the guardian 
and complications follow, including the capture of the tunaway, 
who finds herself at the mercy of wind and tide. Braddell plays 
the familiar part of Deus ex machina, and true love triumphs. 
— H. A. Vachell, r Qir, 




"I'm going to feed the dicky-birds/' said " Great Scot ! " said Spencen " And that 

BraddelL was the stuff the young lady wanted me to 

Spencer sat up. " Have you gone mad ? " drink ! " 

he said. " Quite so/' said BraddelL " Prussic acid 

" Wait and see, as they say in another smells very much like Kirschwasser. The 

place/' addition of the borage and ice was quite a 

■ U happy thought. I don't think our friend is a 

^A Jtei^fS*,* ver Y moral young lady, but I'm absolutely 

convinced she's a very clever young lady." 



Braddell went laughing into the house, and 
returned with a piece of bread in his hand. 
He picked up the glass jug. 

11 Smell that/' he said to Spencer, ** and 
tell me what you make of it." 

Spencer smelt it diligently. 

" Cup of sorts, 1 suppose, and the young 
lady's rather overdone the Kirschwasser. 
The thing reeks of it. I'll just taste it 
and f ' 

Braddell took the jug out of his hand. 
(f Half a minute/' he said. He poured some 
of the contents of the jug on to the piece of 
bread and then broke it up and scattered it 
at the far end of the lawn. 

11 Bet you the birds don't touch it/' said 
Spencer, " They've plenty of better grub 
this weather." 

11 Oh j you can depend on the sparrows/' 
said Braddell, 

And presently a couple of sparrows fluttered 
down on to the lawn and tackled the crumbs 
vigorously, In a few seconds they rolled 
over dead. 

by Google 

" Well ? now, Braddell/' said Spencer, 
ft what do you make of it so far ? " 

li I can only see what is perfectly obvious. 
She was in hiding — from whom I do not know. 
She wanted her hiding-place to he easily dis- 
tinguished by someone coming up the water. 
For whom she was waiting 1 do not know* 
There you have it. There was some person 
from whom she wished to hide, and there was 
some person by whom she wished to be found 
■ — hence the red hand painted on the door. 
But there is a further complication that I 
have not yet reached. When we saw r her 
running across the meadow she was mad 
with terror. There is no doubt about it. 
Why ? And what was it she took out from 
that box of cigarettes she had given us ? The 
game of hide and seek is obvious, but there 
must be a second complication, It is quite 
possible, by the way, that when she offered 
you that drink she mistook vou for somebodv 
else." . 

** But what's the key to the second com- 

P lication 6riginalfrom 



<J Can't say. But this is the key to the 
bureau in the drawing-room. At any rate, it 
fits it. Quite a common lock. I tried it 
when I went in for the bread. Come and 
investigate.' ' 

44 I say," said Spencer, ** what business 
have we got with her bureau ? " 

"Hang it all!" said Braddell. " What 
business has she got with our boat ? 

" By the way," went on Braddell, as they 
v/alked back into the house together, " she 
did not fling herself into the water because 
she was terrified nor because she wished to 
commit suicide. People wlio want to drown 
themselves don't do it where there are two 
lusty young men waiting to fish them out 
again. She wanted to be fished out. You 
can bet on that, at any rate. I wish I had her 
lightning rapidity in plan and execution. I 
should be a great man, Spencer." * 

By Charles Garvice. 
With not unreasonable nervousness Braddell 
unlocked the bureau, Spencer looking over 
his shoulder with feverish curiosity. The 
thing unlocked quite easily. Braddell threw 
up the lid, and Spencer exclaimed with 
amazement, for, quite, uncovered, were a 
number of bags such as are used by banks 
for gold. There could be no doubt about 
the contents, for one of the bags was open, 
revealing a mass of sovereigns. Beside the 
bags was a quantity of bank-notes, and 
tucked away in the corner was an old stable 
cap, with one end of a crape mask still 
attached to it. 

The two men fell back and stared at each 

" Great heavens ! " gasped Spencer. 
" There must be thousands of pounds there ! 
We've come upon the loot of a gang of 

He looked round the neatly - furnished 
room, through the door at the beautiful 
and peaceful scene. The whole place in its 
loveliness and serenity was absolutely in- 
congruous with so mean and sordid a crime 
as bank-cribbing. 

" It's — it's a mystery ! " exclaimed 
Spencer, dropping on to a chair and wiping 
his brow. 

"Nothing of the kind," said Braddell, 
quietly. "It's all perfectly plain and simple. 

* The lady on the lawn was the head and brains of a gang of 
thieves. The bungalow in which she was taking refuge was 
haunted. Her terror was in consequence of this and genuine. 
Others of her gang were to have joined her at the bungalow, and 
she was waiting for them when she received the warning that the 
detectives were on her track. The poisoned drink was intended 
for the detectives.— Barry Pain. 


Some of the gang, two of them, perhaps — 
the clever young lady and a man, probably 
— have been using this bungalow as a kind 
of screen and blind. No doubt they've been 
living here for months, leading the kind of 
simple life which would mislead anyone. For 
who would suspect a young girl — and her 
husband, probably — dawdling through exist- 
ence in such circumstances as these, of 
being concerned in % a conspiracy to rob a 
bank ? And, still more, who would think of 
searching for the stolen money in such a 
place as this ? It was a very pretty plant, 
and I can't for the life of me understand 
why it failed. One would have thought it 
would have been the easiest thing in the 
world to have got the loot away by boat. I 
think I could have done it." 

" Something must have disturbed them," 
said Spencer. " Something evidently did 
upset her, for she was mad with terror when 
we saw her tearing down the lawn. What 
was it ? " 

" Something she saw, something she 
heard," said Braddell. "It may have been 
the red hand on the door. It may have been 
a warning signal, the imitated note of a bird, 
a faint cooee, which we didn't notice, but 
which she heard immediately after we had 

" What's to be done ? " asked Spencer, 
staring at the precious contents of the 

" I'll go and fetch the police to take this 
stuff away. You stay here and mount guard 
over it," said Braddell. 

" No; I'll go," said Spencer, a little paler 
than he had been before, "and you mount 
guard. No ; you sha'n't run any risk, old 
man. We'll both go. No one is likely to 
interfere with this stuff for the short time 
we shall be absent. To be quite frank, I 
couldn't leave you alone here. This place, 
the whole thing, is getting on my nerves." 

Braddell re-locked the bureau, and they 
set out at a sharp trot for the station. 

" What I can't understand," said Spencer, 
" is that poisoned cup. Whom was it meant 
for, and why did she offer it to us ? No 
object in killing a couple of chaps she'd 
never seen before." 

" I don't know," said Braddell, musingly. 
" If she'd done for both of us it would have 
been easy to have pushed us overboard, 
seized the yawl, and escaped." 

" Ingenious, but a trifle risky," commented 

Spencer, with a shake of the head. " One 

may go in for bank-cribbing, but draw the 

line at murder. Here we are. They seem 

Original from 




in a state of excitement. I'll bet they'll lose 
their heads altogether when we show them 
what we've found." 

The sergeant stared when Braddell curtly 
requested him to accompany them back to 
the bungalow and to bring a small sack ; but 
Braddell refused any explanation, and the 
sergeant and a constable — the latter with 
the sack over his arm — returned with the 
two young men to the bungalow. With a 
gesture that was instinctively dramatic 
Braddell unlocked the bureau, threw up the 
lid, and, with his eyes fixed on the sergeant, 
said : — 

" Put it in the sack." 

" Put what, sir ? " demanded the sergeant, 
staring amazedly. 

Braddell turned his eyes swiftly to the 
open bureau and saw that it was empty. He 
was too thunderstruck to utter a word, and 
it was Spencer who gasped out : — 

u That thing was full of notes and gold 
when we left a quarter of an hour ago." 

The sergeant looked from Braddell to 
Spencer with a surprise which gradually 
gave place to a mixture of suspicion and pity. 

" There's nothing there now, sir," he said, 
as he swept his hand round the inside of the 
bureau. " It's quite empty ; not even a 
scrap of paper or a — hairpin. Sure you saw 
it, sir ? " 

" Sure ! " exclaimed Spencer, indignantly. 
" Do you think we've taken leave of our 
senses ? " 

" Well, sir, you've 'ad an upsetting time," 
responded the sergeant, apologetically. 

44 Someone has been here," said Braddell, 
suddenly ; " someone strong enough to carry 
off the money. They can't have gone far ; 
there must be some traces." 

He sprang to the door and, bending down, 
examined the gravel path ; but it had been 
closely rolled and neatly swept, and there 
were no traces of footsteps. But a little 
farther on he found, on the edge of the grass, 
the impress of a man's shoe, a boating shoe 
which had been recently whitened, for there 
was a speck or two of pipeclay on the edge 
of the footprint. 

" Come along." he cried, in a voice 
trembling with excitement. 

They followed him as he tracked the foot- 
prints. They went straight for the shrubbery 
at a little distance from the bungalow. 
Braddell stopped here and pointed to the 
bush in front of him. Some of the twigs 
had been broken, as if a person had rushed 
through the bush, heedless of where he was 

by L^OOgle 

" Better go round," he said. " We won't 
disturb this." 

They found an opening a little lower down 
in the shrubbery, and Braddell cautiously 
entered, signing to the others to keep back. 
They waited almost breathlessly; then sud- 
denly they heard a sharp, low cry from 
Braddell, and the next moment he came out, 
clutching the branches on each side of him 
as if for support. His face was deathly 
white, and he gazed over their heads as if he 
were obsessed by some horrible sight.* 

By Richard Marsh. 
" Pardon me." A man had stepped out 
from among the bushes who was regarding 
them with a smile. u Excuse me, gentlemen, 
this is •Tall right as far as it goes, but the 
point is how far does it go ? That's the 

" There's a dead body lying on the ground 
where that man's just come from," Braddell 
stammered to the sergeant. " I saw it with 
my own eyes." 

" Of course you did, and a very nice one 
it is." 

'* What fiend in human shape," cried 
Braddell, facing the grinning stranger, " have 
we got here ? " 

" That's the point, as I was about to 
remark. " How far have we got ? I killed 
him " 

" You killed him ? You killed the man 
who is lying there ? You admit it ? " 

" Certainly I killed him ; that's the idea, 
I gave him five blows with a hatchet. While 
he was struggling for life he caught hold of 
whatever he could, and that's his bloody 
hand which you see upon the door-post. She 
saw it, the young lady who was dressed as 
a gent, and she did a bunk. Half mad wth 
terror she was ; we'd got her just right — we 
wanted to get her like that, you know ; into 
the water she goes, then you come on the 
scene, and that's as far as we've got." 

" It seems to me that you've got some 

* The girl, a member of a good family, had fallen into the 
hands of a professional thief, a handsome, fascinating scoundrel. 
Ths t*o had been concerned in the bank robbery, the proceeds 
of which thev had secreted in the bungalow, where they had 
been living for some time. They had arranged to meet at 
the bungalow, whence they were to escape in disguise. The 
girl had put on a man'; flannel boating suit and was awaiting 
her accomplice when Spencer and Braddell's yawl came up. 
After they hid gone she went to the house, apd saw the red hand, 
a warning *ign, on the door. She was about to take flight when 
she came upon tht body of her accomplice lying in the shrub- 
bery behind the bungalow, He had committed suicide by 
drinking the cup, which she did not know contained poison when 
she offered it t<> Spencer. A third accomplice who had been 
watching had made off with the contents of tbe bureau while 
Spencer and Braddell had gone for the police. The girl and tbe 
rest of the gang were captured and sent to penal servitude, — 
Charles Gakvick. 

ungmal from 




distance," Spen- 
cer was surveying 
the stranger with 
a glance which, 
perhaps, i n $ u f- 
ficiently showed, 
his bewilderment. 
'" Are you a mur- 
derer, or merely a 
• riminal lunatic, 
or what are you, 
sir? 5 ' 

,: Yes j what 
am I ? That's 
another point. 
We haven't got 
so far as that/' 
Taking off his 
straw hat ? the 
stranger passed a 
hlue silk hand- 
kerchief across 
his brow- " Of 
tourse, the idea 
was that I was 
lt> cut her throat. 

drag tier out of the water by the hair of her 
head, and, as she lay gasping for breath on 
the bank, slit it from car to car ; but, as I was 
about to remark ; that's what \ye haven't 
quite got to." 

i( Haven't you? You may thank your 
lucky stars that your carnival of crime was 
not played out/' Spencer's tones were 
portentous. u Sergeant, do you happen to 
have a pair of handcuffs in your pocket ? If 
ever there was an occasion on which they 
were required f surely this is one," 

"I'm thinking I've met this chap before," 
the sergeant remarked. 

"You have, sergeant, when I gave you 
half a crown to smash my friend's head open 
with your truncheon ; then we had a hand- 
to-hand fight, after l*d thrown my wife out 
of the window." 

" I remember/' agreed the constable; u I 
w member very well. You made that half a 
crown five shillings. 1 * 

fi It was worth it ; you put up something 
like a fight; you'd have killed me if my 
friend hadn't thrown you out of the window 
after my wife. Excuse me, gentlemen, but 
it occurs to me" — the stranger turned to 
Braddell and Spencer with the friendliest 
possible gesture — f " that this may require a 
little explanation ; something in your attitude 
suggests it. Perhaps you will find it here," 

From a letter -case he took two cards, 

. ■ ii 



by Google 

presenting one to each gentleman. They were 
inscribed :— 


The Finest the World Prodvces ! ! 

Startlers ! ! ! 

Screamers ! ! ! ! 

Scorchers ! ! ! ! ! 

Screeches !!!!!! 

More Terror, Tears and Laughter to the square inch 

than those of any other firm in the Universe ! 
The Wry Laiesi I im tiuit^raph Company, 3, 5 & 7, 
Corkcutter Alley, St. Martin's Lane. Representative, 
Jack Thompson* 

u That's me, gentlemen. I'm Jack Thomp- 
son, very much at your .service. We were 
rehearsing a little idea in which the intention 
was to cram more varieties of bloodshed and 
Crime than have ever been crammed into 
twelve hundred feet before— a film full of 
human interest, with a heart-to-heart ending, 
And when you came upon the scene that was 
as far as we'd got," 

" And why/' exclaimed a voice behind 
them," you wish to waste good Kirschwasser 
on making two sparrows dead drunk is beyond 
me altogether," 

The speaker picked up two sparrows which 
were making some rather singular attempts 
to walk across the lawn. 

u Drunk ? " murmured Spencer, " I thought 
they were dead," 

IS Of course you did ; you'd think anything 
- you're such a nice young: man," The 
speaker plunged a pair of hands into his two 
t rouse r pockets. (t You thought I was a man. 
Well, I'm not, I'm a girl ; and that's as far 
as I've pot," 

Original from 

Does it Pay to 
Back Horses? 


[The ex pens whose opinions have been asked on this 
subject have been chosen as representative of the 
various classes whose experience carries weight — the 
mathematician, the owner of horses, the trainer, the 
jockey, the professional backer, the bookmaker, and 
the racing journalist. These opinions are most varied 
and interest i ng, an J it will be noticed that ihey all 
agree on one point, name!/, that the ordinary backer 
is the support of the ring, and is, therefore- more 
or less of a " mug."] 

SIR HIRAM MAXIM (Mathematical Expert). 

T depends altogether upon the 
standpoint from which it is 
viewed. There must of neces- 
sity be more than one party 
to a bet The bookie bets 
that a horse will not win and 
makes money by it, and the 
common or garden gambler bets that the 
horse will win and loses money by it. Many 
bookmakers have became immensely rich 
by betting, and this is proof that money can 
be made by betting, providing that the busi- 
ness is conducted in a skilful manner. It is 
impossible for anyone to make money on a 
bet unless someone else loses it. Betting 
does not increase the amount of wealth in the 
country, but rather diminishes it. The book- 
makers of England must make several millions 
a year out of their business, and every penny 
of this is won from the unthinking public, 
who are quite satisfied to play at a losing 
game, providing that they have the remote 
chance of winning more than their stake. If 
it were possible to discover a system that 
would beat the bookmakers, then the book- 
makers would very soon alter their rules of 
the game so as to meet the new state of 


I do not suppose that from any point of 
view betting pays. It can hardly be supposed 
that either the auri sacra fames* or the deter- 
mination of either the one or the other of the 
" contracting parties " to get a little the best 
of the bargain 3 can be of any benefit to 

Digitized by Li< 

character, while I have never heard of any 
backer of horses, at any rate, ever having 
amassed wealth. Although it may be for a 
short time his speculations have been suc- 
cessful, yet in the long run his losses out- 
balance his gains. Indeed, if they did not 
do so, how would the betting ring exist ? 

Mr. DANNY MAHER (the Famous Jockey). 

Since jockeys are not allowed to bet, it is^ 
difficult for me to express an opinion. As a 
mere looker-on, so far as betting is concerned, 
I see no reason why betting should not pay. 
In a country like this, where racing is strictly 
and fairly carried out and where everything 
possible is done to ensure the best horse 
winning, to win at betting becomes a matter 
of judgment. But to be able to judge the 
comparative merits of various horses in a* 




given race, at given weights r is not always 
easy, for the reason that horses, like human 
beings, do not run with a machine-like even- . 
ness. Horses have their good and bad days. 
Every racing season many examples occur, 
especially among young horses, of animals 
that beat each other under apparently even 
conditions, one winning one day and being 
beaten by another, perhaps the very next 
week, which was "down the course " before. 
This may be accounted for either by the 
" mood " of a horse or the improvement 
from training — different horses improving 
at different rates according to the training 
and according to their temperament — or even 
by the mood or condition of the jockey. For 
jockeys have their good and bad days too, 
and are seldom right at the top of their form 
every time. It is these variations that lend 
uncertainty to betting and give the book- 
maker his chance, in my opinion. 

The Views of a Professional Backer. 

Speaking from the point of view, purely 
and simply, of the punter — that is to say, 
the general run of punters — it must be obvious 
that betting does not pay. Otherwise the 
supply of bookmakers would speedily run 
short ! - If I were asked to answer the ques- 
tion " Can betting pay?" -I should give a 
very different answer. Betting is a business 
on the -punter's side just as much as it is on 
the layer's side. It requires experience, dis- 
crimination, self-control, and keen observa- 
tion.-* Alriiost anyone who is prepared to treat 
betting oh horses as a business, and devotes 
as much time and thought to it as is devoted 
to achieving success in any other profession, 
can make money. However hard they work, 
men sometimes fail in business. It is so with 
the professional backers. They are not infal- 
lible. But most of them make a living, and 
many of them make a good income. 

The crowd that throngs the racecourse is, 
for the most part, out for a day's sport, with 
the exciting prospect of " making a bit " — with 
luck. They bet on every race without any 
knowledge or previous observation to guide 
them, or follow the advice of a tipster who 
is forced to give selections whether he knows 
anything or not, simply because the public 
demand it of him. To win for any length 
of time, when betting in this indiscriminate 
way, is impossible. Men often have a run of 
luck, it is true. I have known a man win 
week after week for six weeks on end, although 
he hardly knew a horse from a mule, and was 
guided simply by his own " fancy." The last 
state of such a man is always worse than the 

Digitized by C-OOgle 

first. Money won so easily is easily spent, 
and when the tide turns, as turn it must, wild 
plunges to recover lead to loss, and sometimes 
to ruin. Human nature is what puts money 
in the bookmakers' pockets. The punter 
cannot wait to bet on some horse which has 
an obviously good chance, or about which he 
really has information. The moment the 
horses assemble for a race a wild desire to 
gamble comes over him. He cannot bear to 
see them run unless he has something on. 
The result is that by the time the race arrives 
in which the horse he came to back is engaged 
he has nothing left. 

The man who makes punting pay is he with 
an iron control over himself. He is content 
to wait for days, and often for weeks, without 
a bet at all, although all that time he is attend- 
ing meetings and keeping his eyes open for 
likely winners in the future. Then, when his 
chance comes, he has not frittered away his 
money, but is able to put it down. If the 
ordinary punter put on all the money in one 
race that he fritters away in six he would 
stand to win a goodly sum at no greater risk. 
It is hard enough to find one winner, let alone 
half-a-dozen ! 

'•CAPTAIN COE," of the "Star." 

The greatest charm about betting on horse- 
racing lies in the bed-rock fact that it is pos- 
sible to win on every race if you manage to 
pick the right one. I remember well the case 
of one racecourse tout who, some years ago, 
went right through the card on a certain day 
and ran ten shillings into three hundred and 
fifty pounds ! On another day I gave every 
winner at York and Salisbury but one, and 
the loser was, unfortunately, the " nap." 
Scores of little punters had the " nap " in 
doubles, trebles, and accumulators, not one 
of which synchronized, to the great joy of the 

Backing, as carried on by professional 
punters, pays well ; indeed, the late R. H. 
Fry once told me the professional backer 
had a better chance than the bookies, 
and I may add that during my experience 
I have only known one big professional backer 
who disappeared. He lost eighteen thousand 
pounds at one Epsom meeting, and had the 
money to pay with ; but he preferred to retire 
into private life to paying up, and I believe 
he purchased an annuity with his capital. 

I do not bet myself ; but once when I ran 
horses I put five pounds on one of them at 
the instigation of one of the biggest legal 
luminants of that day, who witnessed the 
trial. My horse was beaten in the race by 




a head, but, as it was a selling evenly I got a 
share of a big surplus. 

I feel it right to add, in conclusion, that I 
am not qualified to properly answer the 

Mr. D. K. GANT (the Well-Known Startins- 
ppiee Bookmaker). 

At the present time it would he difficult 
to say which of the two — the layer or the 
backer — has the advantage. Telephones and 
telegrams, together with the extraordinary 
competition among newspapers in the purvey- 
ance of racing information, have rendered 
bookmaking profits a matter of slight per- 
centage, and if the bookmaker is to keep 
going it must be on the strength of almost 
unlimited resources and a huge connection, 

It has certainly paid me, but the profits I 
have made from starting-price bookmaking 
cannot be termed extravagant considering 
the amount of capital that has from time to 
time been requisitioned to develop the busi- 
ness — and maintain it — on a sound footing. 
I am confident that if I had speculated a 
similar amount in judiciously advertising 
such articles as soap, pickles, or mustard I 
should have received a far better return for 
my money, and, as I am fortunate enough to 
possess very considerable interests now in 
certain well-known commercial undertakings, 
I am not speaking without experience. 

Some twenty years ago I expended a very 
large amount of money [n advertising certain 
bookmaking innovations which were then 
quite original, but have since become almost 
general. The w No limit, no commission J1 
system of betting was among these. I com- 
menced to pay the full starting-price, no 
matter at what odds the horse started, 
although most bookmakers had at that Ume 
a limit of ten to one on small races, and they 
deducted anything from two and a half to 
five per cent, from clients' winnings. This 
move resulted to me in an enormous increase 
of business, but it must not be thought that 


a large clientele necessarily means big profits. 
You may hear and read of people who back 
horses in a sublime spirit of indifference as 
to whether they win or lose — just for the 
sport of the thing, in fact — and if any amount 
of advertising could secure for the bookmaker 
a In rye number of these as clients his fortune 
would be assured. As far as my experience 
goes, however, such people do not exist ! 

Speaking from the starting-price book- 
maker's point of view I must point out that 
this is a very different thing to betting on the 
course, where a book can be made on each 
race to ensure a profit, and commissions can 
be refused if there is too much money for a 
particular horse. The starting-price book- 
maker is in quite a different position: He 
must accept bets right up to the time of the 
start in perfect ignorance as to the state of 
the market, or whether any horse or horses 
are being backed at the last moment. He is, 
therefore, prevented from covering himself 
against loss, I have myself been through 
periods of great stress and strain through 
the victory of certain horses which, while 
popular with the * ( stay-at-home " punter, 
have been little supported on the course^ and 
have consequently smarted at a long price* 
These and similar trials can only be supported 
by having a large enough cash balance avail- 
able to meet all contingencies, and it is only 
under these conditions and by careful atten- 
tion to business that starting-price book- 
making can be made to pay. 

Mr, JAMES H, SMITH (" Vigilant," of the 


The question is one I should be chary of 
treating from a journalistic point of view, 
-r Does betting pay ? yt It depends on the 
speculator and his ability to beat the market. 
In a word, as in everything else, cleverness 
prevails, but to anyone not thoroughly at* fait 
with racing in all its intricacies on the one 
hand and the various and rapid changes in the 
market, my direct advice would be M Dont!' 
Original from 




Colonel W, HALL WALKER, M.P. 

You ask me for my opinion, " Does betting 
pay?" I presume you mean, does it pay 
that portion of the public who back horses? 

The bookmakers' profits 1 know nothing 
of beyond that I share Lhe almost universal 
opinion that they do win, and that largely, 
as the odds are so much in their favour. As 
regards the backers of horses, probably a small 
proportion do win money regularly ; but these 
are professional backers, who go to the meet- 
ings regularly and work in a businesslike way, 
Apart from the before - mentioned, I have 
no doubt that the vast majority of backers 
of horses lose money at the game ; but the 
same can be said about the participators in 
every other kind of amusement or sport, as 
none of these can be carried on without cost. 

1 have previously publicly expressed my 
approval of the pari-mutuel system of betting, 
as giving the ordinary backer a much fairer 
chance than he at present enjoys, and at the 
same time securing substantial financial aid 
to the horse supply of this country. 

Mr* ROBERT S. SIEVIER {whose famous 
mare, Sceptre, was such a popular idol). 

You have put before me a proposition, 
" Does betting pay ? " The obvious answer 
is f " Yes — it pays the bookmaker." There 
are also many backers who make it pay? but 
it is clear that several must lose, or book- 
makers would not exist. One might say. 

M Does speculation on the Stock Exchange 
pay ? Jr But against this there is a very 
large amount annually to be set aside for the 
stockbrokers and jobbers. To my mind, 
betting is the fairest mode of speculation, 
and certainly the most honourable, One's 
liabilities are described as debts of honour, 
and this arises from the fact that bets are 
made by word of mouthy without witnesses, 
and no documents are signed by either party. 
Yet there are fewer disputes brought before 
Tattersairs Committee, which is the tribunal 
for hearing such cases, than there are perhaps 
in connection with any other transactions 
where money passes- The man who loses 
by backing horses is invariably the one who 
goes after his money. Temperament is the 
qualification that is required , with a fair 
quantum of philosophy , thrown in. The 
majority of men fail to blend the two, and are 
too eager to regain their losses when they are 
out of touch with Dame Fortune. I am 
ready to admit that temptation to liquidate 
a lost bet by winning another is great, but 
the man who bets should be prepared to lose 
and pay instead of speculating with only hope 
for a foundation. 


I can only say that I should be very sorry 
to encourage anyone to bet with a view to 
making money. Nay, more, 1 would dis- 
courage everyone from betting in any way, 
except as a pastime. 

VaL *tiL-3& 

by Google 

riginal from 


Illustratea by \Vill Gwen, 

IE night-watchman appeared 
to be out o[ sorts. His move- 
ments were even slower than 
usual, and, when he sat 7 the 
soap-box seemed to be unable 
to give satisfaction. His face 
bore an expression of deep 
melancholy, but a smouldering gleam in his 
eye betokened feelings deeply moved* 

" Play-acting I don't hold - with," he burst 
out, with sudden ferocity, (t Never did- I 
don't say I ain't been to a theayter once or 
twice in my life, but I always come away with 
the idea that anybody could act if they liked 
to try. It's a kid's game, a silly kid's game, 
dressing up and pretending to be somebody 

He cut off a piece of tobacco and, stowing 
it in his left cheek, sat chewing, with his lack- 
lustre eyes fixed on the wharves across the 

Copyright, 1911, 

river, The offensive antics of a lighterman 
in mid-stream, who nearly fell overboard in 
his efforts to attract his attention, he ignored, 

I might ha* known it, too t he said, after 
along silence. If I'd only stopped to think, 
instead 0' being in such a hurry to do good 
to others, 1 should ha 1 been all right, and the 
pack o } monkey-faced swabs on the Lizzie and 
Annie wot calls themselves snilormcn would 
'ave had to 'ave got something else to laugh 
about. They've told it in every pub for 'arf 
a mile round, and last night, when I went into 
the Town of Margate to get a drink .three chaps 
climbed over the partition to 'ave a look at me. 

It all began w r ith young Ted Sawyer, the 
mate o* the Lizzie and Annie. He calls him- 
self a mate,, but if it wasn't for 'aving the 
skipper for a brother-in-law Vd be called 
something else, very quick. Two or three 
times we've 'ad words over one thing and 

by W, W. Jacobs 




another, and the last time I called 'im some- 
thing that I can see now was a mistake. It 
was one o' these 'ere clever things that a man 
don't forget, let alone a lop-sided monkey 
like 'im. 

That was when they was up time afore 
last, and when they made fast 'ere last week 
I could see as he 'adn't forgotten it. For one 
thing he pretended not to see me, and, arter 
I 'ad told him wot I'd do to him if 'e ran into 
me agin, he said 'e thought I was a sack o' 
potatoes taking a airing on a pair of legs wot 
somebody 'ad throwed away. Nasty tongue 
'e's got ; not clever, but nasty. 

Arter that I took no notice of 'im, and, o' 
course, that annoyed 'im more than anything. 
All I could do I done, and 'e was ringing the 
gate-bell that night from five minutes to 
twelve till ha'-past afore I heard it. Many 
a night-watchman gets a name for going to 
sleep when Vs only getting a bit of 'is own 

We stood there talking for over 'arf an hour 
arter I 'ad let 'im in. Leastways, he did. 
And whenever I see as he was getting tired 
I just said, " H J sh ! " and 'e'd start agin as 
fresh as ever. He tumbled to it at last, and 
went aboard shaking 'is little fist at me and 
telling me wot he'd do to me if it wasn't for 
the lor. 

I kept by the gate as soon as I came on 
dooty next evening, just to give 'im a little 
smile as.'e went out. There is nothing more 
aggravating than a smile when it is properly 
done ; but there was no signs o' my lord, and, 
arter practising it on a carman by mistake, 
I 'ad to go inside for a bit and wait till he 'ad 

The coast was clear by the time I went 
back, and I 'ad just stepped outside with my 
back up agin the gate-post to 'ave a pipe, 
when I see a boy coming along with a bag. 
Good-looking lad of about fifteen 'e was, 
nicely dressed in a serge suit, and he no sooner 
gets up to me than 'e puts down the bag and 
looks up at me with a timid sort o' little smile. 

" Good evening, cap'n," he ses. 

He wasn't the fust that *ad made that 
mistake ; older people than 'im have done it. 

" Good evening, my lad," I ses. 

" I s'pose,'.' he ses, in a trembling voice, 
<% I suppose you ain't looking out for a cabin- 
boy, sir ? " 

" Cabin-boy ? " I ses. "No, I ain't." 

11 I've run away from 'ome to go to sea," 
he ses, " and I'm afraid of being pursued. 
Can I come inside ? " 

Afore I could say " No " he 'ad come, bag 
and all, and afore I could say anything else 

he 'ad nipped into the office and stood there 
with his 'and on his chest, panting. 

" I know I can trust you," he ses; " I can 
see it by your face." 

" Wot 'ave you run away from 'ome for ? " 
I ses. " Have they been ill-treating of you ? " 

" Ill-treating me ? N " he ses, with a laugh. 
" Not much. Why, I expect my father is 
running about all over the place offering 
rewards for me. He wouldn't lose me for a 
thousand pounds." 

I pricked up my ears at that ; I don't 
deny it. Anybody would. Besides, I knew 
it would be doing ' m a kindness to hand 'im 
back to 'is father f And then I did a bit o' 
thinking to see 'ow it was to be done. 

" Sit down," I ses, putting three or four 
ledgers on the floor behind one of the desks. 
" Sit down, and let's talk it over." 

We talked away for ever so long, but, do 
all I would, I couldn't persuade 'im. His 'ead 
was stuffed full of coral islands and smugglers 
and pirates and foreign ports. He said 'e 
wanted to see the world, and flying-fish. 

" I love the blue billers," he ses ; " the 
heaving blue billers is wot I want." 

I tried to explain to 'im who would be doing 
the heaving, but 'e wouldn't listen to me. 
He sat on them ledgers like a little wooden 
image, looking up at me and shaking his 'ead, 
and when I told 'im of storms and shipwrecks 
he just smacked 'is lips and his blue eyes 
shone with joy. Arter a time I saw it was no 
good trying to persuade 'im, and I pretended 
to give way. 

" I think I can get you a ship with a friend 
o' mine," I ses ; " but, mind, I've got to relieve 
your pore father's mind — I must let 'im know 
wot's become of you." 

" Not before I've sailed," he ses, very quick* 

" Certingly not," I ses. " But you must 
give me 'is name and address, and, arter the 
Blue Shark — that's the name of your ship — 
is clear of the land, I'll send 'im a letter with 
no name to it, saying where you 'ave gorn." 

He didn't seem to like it at fust, and said 'e 
would write 'imself, but arter I 'ad pointed 
out that 'e might forget and that I was respon- 
sible, 'e gave way and told me that 'is father 
was named Mr. Watson, and he kept a big 
draper's shop in the Commercial Road. 

We talked a bit arter that, just to stop 'is 
suspicions, and then I told 'im to stay where 
'e was on the floor, out of sight of the window, 
while I went to see my friend the captin. 

I stood outside for a moment trying to 
make up my mind wot to do. 0' course, I 'ad 
no business, strictly speaking, to leave the 
wharf, but, on the othsr 'and, there was a 




father's 'eart to relieve. I edged along bit 
by bit while I was thinking, and then, arter 
looking back once or twice to make sure that 
the boy wasn't watching me, I set off for the 
Commercial Road as hard as I could go. 

I'm not so young as I was. It was a warm 
evening, and I 'adn't got even a bus fare on 
me. I 'ad to walk all the way, and, by the 
time I got there, I was 'arf melted. It was 
a tidy-sized shop, with three or four nice- 
looking gals behind the counter, and things 
like babies' high chairs for the customers to 
sit on — long in the leg and ridikerlously small 
in the seat. I went up to one of the gals and 
told 'er I wanted to see Mr. Watson. 

" On private business," I ses. " Very 

She looked at me for a moment, and then 
she went away and fetched a tall, bald-headed 
man with grey side-whiskers and a large nose. 

" Wot d'you want ? " he ses, coming up 
to me. 

" I want a word with you in private," I ses. 

" This is private enough for me," he ses. 
" Say wot you 'ave to say, and be quick about 

I drawed myself up a bit and looked at 
him. " P'r'aps you ain't missed 'im yet," 
I ses. 

" Missed 'im ? " he ses, with a growl. 
" Missed who ? " 

" Your — son. Your blue-eyed son," I ses, 
looking 'im straight in the eye. 

" Look here ! " he ses, spluttering. " You 
be off. 'Ow dare you come here with your 
games ? Wot d'ye mean by it ? " 

" I mean," I ses, getting a bit out o' temper, 
" that your boy has run away to go to sea, 
and I've come to take you to 'im." 

He seemed so upset that I thought 'e was 
going to 'ave a fit at fust, and it seemed only 
natural, too. Then I see that the best-looking 
girl and another was 'aving a fit, although 
trying 'ard not to. 

u If you don't get out o' my shop," he ses 
at last, " I'll 'ave you locked up." 

" Very good ! " I ses, in a quiet way. 
" Very good ; but, mark my words, if he's 
drownded you'll never forgive yourself as 
long as you live for letting your temper get 
the better of you — you'll never know a good 
night's rest agin. Besides, wot about 'is 
mother ? " 

One o' them silly gals went off agin just 
like a damp firework, and Mr. Watson, arter 
nearly choking 'imself with temper, shoved 
me out o' the way and marched out o' the 
shop. I didn't know wot to make of 'im at 
fust ; and then one o' the gals told me that 'e 

Digitized by GOOglC 

was a bachelor and 'adn't got no son, and that 
somebody 'ad been taking advantage of what 
she called my innercence to pull my leg. 

" You toddle off 'ome," she ses, " before 
Mr. Watson comes back." 

" It's a shame to let 'im come out alone/' 
ses one o' the other gals. " Where do you 
live, gran'pa ? " 

I see then that I 'ad been done, and I was 
just walking out o' the shop, pretending to 
be deaf, when Mr. Watson come back with a 
silly young policeman wot asked me wot I 
meant by it. He told me to get off 'ome 
quick, and actooally put his 'and on my 
shoulder, but it 'ud take more than a thing 
like that to push me, and, arter trying his 
'ardest, he could only rock me a bit. 

I went at last because I wanted to see that 
boy agin, and the young policeman follered 
me quite a long way, shaking his silly 'ead 
at me and telling me to be careful. 

I got a ride part o' the way from Com- 
mercial Road to Aldgate by getting on the 
wrong bus, but it wasn't much good, and I 
was quite tired by the time I got back to the 
wharf. I waited outside for a minute or two 
to get my wind back agin, and then I went 
in — boiling. 

You might ha' knocked me down with a 
feather, as the saying is, and I just stood 
inside the office speechless. The boy 'ad 
disappeared, and sitting on the floor where 
I 'ad left 'im was a very nice-looking gal of 
about eighteen, with short 'air and a white 

" Good evening, sir," she ses, jumping up 
and giving me a pretty little frightened look. 
"I'm so sorry that my brother has been 
deceiving you. He's a bad, wicked, ungrate- 
ful boy. The idea of telling you that Mr. 
Watson was 'is father ! Have you been 
there ? I do 'ope you're not tired." 

" Where is he ? " I ses. 

" He's gorn," she ses, shaking her 'ead. 
" I begged and prayed of 'im to stop, but 'e 
wouldn't. He said 'e thought you might be 
offended with 'im. •' Give my love to old 
Roley-Poley, and tell 'im I don't trust 'im/ 
he ses." 

She stood there looking so scared that I 
didn't know wot to say. By and by she took 
out 'er little pocket-ankercher and began to 

" Oh, get 'im back," she ses. " Don't let 
it be said I follered 'im 'ere all the way for 
nothing. Have another try. For my sake ! " 

" 'Ow can I get 'im back when I don't know 
where he's gorn ? " I ses. 

" He — he's pom to 'is godfather." she ses, 





dabbing her eyes. " I promised 'irn not to 
te!I anybody ; hut I don't know wot to do 
for the best." 

" Well, p'r'aps 'is godfather will 'old on to 
'im/' I ses, 

" He won't tell 'im anything about going 
to sea/' she ses, shaking her little 'ead* 
" He's just gorn to try and bo- bo-borrow 
some money to go away with." 

She bust out sobbing, and it was all I could 
do to get the godfather's address out of 'er* 
When 1 think of the trouble I took to get it 
I come over quite faint. At last she told me, 
between 'er sobs, that 'is name was Mr. 
Kiddem, and that he lived at 27, Bridge 

w He's one o' the kindest-'earted and most 
generous men that ever lived/' she ses ; 
*' that's why my brother Harry 'as gone 
to *im. And you needn't mind taking 
anything J e likes to give you ; he's rolling 
in money." 

I took it a bit easier going to Bridge Street, 
but the evening seemed 'otter than ever, and 
by the time I got to the 'ouse I was pretty 
near done up, A nice, tidy-looking woman 
opened the door, but she was a'most stone- 


deaf, and I 'ad to shout the name pretty near 
a dozen times afore she 'card it, 

'* He don't live 'ere/' she ses. 

" 'As he moved ? " I ses, M Or wot ? " 

She shook her 'ead, and, arter telling me to 
wait, went in and fetched her 'us band. 

" Never 'card of him/' he ses, (< and we've 
been 'ere seventeen years. Are you sure it 
was twenty-seven ? " 

" Sartain/' 1 ses. 

" Well, he don't live 'ere/* he ses. " Why 
not try thirty-seven and forty-seven ? " 

I tried 'cm ; thirty -seven was empty, and 
a pasty-faced chap at forty-seven nearly made 
'irnself ill over the name of " Kiddenu" It 
'adtv t struck me before, but it's a hard matter 
to deceive me, and all in a flash it come over 
me that 1 'ad been done agin, and that the 
gal was as bad as 'cr brother. 

I was so done up I could 'ardly crawl back, 
and my 'ead was all in a maze. Three or four 
times I stopped and tried to think, but 
couldn't, but at last I got bark and dragged 
myself into the office. 

As I 'arf expected, it was empty. There 
was no sign of either the gal or the boy ; and 
I dropped into a, chair and tried to think wot 




it all meant. Then, 'appening to look out of 
the winder, I see somebody running up and 
down the jetty. 

I couldn't see plain owing to the things in 
the way, but as soon as I got outside and saw 
who it was I nearly dropped. It was the boy, 
and he was running up and down wringing 
his 'ands and crying like a wild thing, and, 
instead o' running away as soon as 'e saw me, 
he rushed right up to me and threw 'is grubby 
little paws round my neck. 

" Save her ! " 'e ses. " Save 'er ! Help ! 

" Look 'ere/' I ses. 

" She fell overboard/' he ses, dancing about. 
" Oh, my pore sister ! Quick ! Quick ! I 
can't swim ! " 

He ran to the side and pointed at the water, 
which was just about at 'arf-tide. Then 'e 
caught 'old of me agin. 

" Make 'aste," he ses, giving me a shove 
behind. " Jump in. Wot are you waiting 
for ? " 

I stood there for a moment 'arf dazed, 
looking down at the water. Then I pulled 
down a life-belt from the wall 'ere and threw 
it in, and, arter another moment's thought, 
ran back to the Lizzie and Annie, wot was in 
the inside berth, and gave them a hail. I've 
always 'ad a good voice, and in a flash the 
skipper and Ted Sawyer came tumbling up 
out of the cabin and the 'ands out of the 

" Gal overboard ! " I ses, shouting. 

3y Google 





The skipper just asked where, and then 3 im 
and the mate and a couple of 'ands tumbled 
into their boat and pulled under the jetty 
for all they was worth. Me and the boy ran 
back and stood with the others t watching. 

" Point out the exact spot/* ses the skipper. 

The boy pointed., and the skipper stood up 
in the boat and felt round with a boat-hook. 

wouldn't J ave been drownded. Wot was she 
doing on the wharf ? " 

" Skylarking I s'pose," ses the mate. 
"It's a wonder there ain't more drownded, 
Wot can you expect when the watchman is 
sitting in a pub all the e% r ening ? " 

The cook said I ought to be 'ung, and a 
young ordinary seaman wot was standing 


Twice 'e said he thought *e touched some- 
thing, but it turned out as 'e was mistaken. 
His face got longer and longer and J e shook 
his ? ead, and said he was afraid it was no 

" Don't stand cry in* 'ere," he ses to the 
boy, kindly, M Jem, run round for the 
Thames police, and get them and the drags. 
Take the boy with you. It'll occupy 3 is 

He *ad another go with the boat-hook arter 
they 'ad gone ; then ! e gave it up, and sat 
in the boat waiting, 

11 This'U be a bad job for you, watchman/' 
he ses j shaking his 'ead. +i Where was you 
when it 'appened ? " 

4t He's been missing all the e%'ening/' ses 
the cook, wot was standing beside me. " If 
he'd been doing 'is dooty, the pore gal 

beside 'im said he would sooner I was boiled 
I believe they 'ad words about it, but I was 
feeling too upset to lake much notice, 

u Looking miserable won't bring 'er back 
to life agin, 3 ses the skipper, looking up at 
mo and shaking his ead. l< You'd better go 
down to my cabin and get yourself a drop o J 
whisky ; there's a bottle on the table. You'll 
want all your wits about you when the police 
come. And wotever you do don't say 
nothing to criminate yourself." 

" We'll do the criminating for 'ini all 
right/' ses the cook. 

" If I was the pore gal I'd haunt 1m," 
ses the ordinary seaman ; " every night of 'is 
life I'd stand afore 'im dripping with water 
and moaning," 

cook ; iS let's 

(l PVaps she will," ses the 
'ope so, at any rate." 





I didn't answer 'em ; I was too dead-beat. 
Besides which, IVe got a 'orror of ghosts, 
and the idea of being on the wharf alone of a 
night urter such a thing was a'most too much 
for me. I went on board the lAzzie and Annie, 
and down in the cabin I found a bottle o* 
whisky, as the skipper 'ad said. I sat down 
on the locker and 'ad a glass, and then I sat 
worrying and wondering wot was to be the 
end of it all. 

The whi&ky warmed me up a bit, and I 3 ad 
just taken up the bottle to 'elp myself agin 
when I 'eard a faint sort o' sound in the 
skipper's state-room, I put the bottle down 
and listened, but everything seemed deathly 
still, I took it up agin, and 'ad just poured 
out a drop c/ whisky when I distinctly 'eard 
a hissing noise and then a little moan. 

For a moment I sat turned to stone. Then 
I put the bottle down quiet, and 'ad just got 
up to go when the door of the state-room 
opened, and I saw the drownded gal, with 
'er little face and hair all wet and dripping, 
standing before me. 

Ted Sawyer 'as been telling everybody 
that I came up the companion-way like a 
fog-horn that 'ad lost its ma ; I wonder how 
he'd *ave come up if he'd 'ad the e% T ening I 
had 'ad ? 

They were all on the jetty as I got there 
and tumbled into the skipper's arms, and all 
asking at once wot was the matter. When I 
got my breath back a bit and told *em ? they 
laughed. All except the cook, and 'e said it 
was only wot I might expect. Then, like 
a man in a dream, I see the gal come out of 
the companion and walk slow T ly to the side. 

" Look ! ir I ses. " Look ! There she is ! " 

" You're dreaming," ses the skipper ; 
" there's nothing there," 

They all said the same, even when the gal 
stepped on to the side and climbed on to the 
wharf. She came along towards me with *er 
arms held close to 'er sides, and making the 
most 'orrible faces at me, and it took five of 
'em all their time to 'old me. The wharf and 
everything seemed to me to spin round and 
round. Then she came straight up to me 
and patted me on the cheek. 

" Pore old gentleman/' she ses, " Wot a 
shame it is, Ted ! " 

They let go o J me then, and stamped up and 
down the jetty laughing fit to kill themselves* 
If they 'ad only known wot a exhibition they 
was making of themselves, and 'ow I pitied 
them, they wouldn't ha' done it. And by 
and by Ted wiped his eyes and put his arm 
round the gal's waist and ses : — 

" This is my intended, Miss Florrie Price, '* 
he ses. *' Ain't she a little w r onder ? Wot 
d'ye think of 'er ? >' 

" I'll keep my own opinion," I ses, " I 
ain't got anything to say against gals, but 
if I only lay my 'ands on that young brother 
of 'ers^— " 

They went off agin then, worse than ever ; 
and at last the cook came and put 'is skinny 
arm round my neck and started spluttering 
in my ear. I shoved 'im off hard, because I 
see it all then ; and 1 should ha' seen it afore 
only I didn't 'ave time to think. I don't 
bear no malice, and all I can say is that I 
don't wish 'er any harder punishment than 
to be married to Ted Sawyer, 

by Google 

Original from 

K*u Jiii lilv. 



Illustrated by W. E. Wtfull. 

N a recent issue of The 
Strand we gave a number 
of instances of impudent 
audacity, and suggested that 
our readers might be able and 
willing to supply further ones 
out of their own knowledge 
or experience. With this suggestion hun- 
dreds have complied, and we have pleasure 
this month in giving a selection from the 
anecdotes received. It is curious how the 
same story will turn up in different places, 
related of different times and persons. More 
than one has been sent to us by at least half- 
a-dozen correspondents , widely separated. 
This is the case with the following, of which 
we choose the version forwarded by Mr. F. H* 
Ursell, of Abbey Wood, Kent. 

" A traveller in books/' he writes, " who 
had been working Auckland, New Zealand, for 
all it was worth, called one morning on a 
grocer and introduced to his notice a medical 
work at the price of one sovereign. The 
grocer said he was too busy to attend to him , 
but if he cared to show the work to his wife 
he could do so, If she was satisfied with it 
he would purchase a copy. 

ki The American immediately proceeded 
to the grocer's private residence, where he 
informed the wife that the grocer had sent 
him with the book, for which she was to pay. 
The good lady, without demur, did so. The 
traveller then returned to the store, where the 
grocer was informed that his wife was very 
pleased with the work and would like her 
husband to purchase a copy, This the grocer 
did, whilst the traveller casually informed him 
that he wished to catch the boat for Welling- 
ton that morning. 

" A short time after his departure a 
messenger came from the house who informed 
the grocer that his wife had purchased the 
book at his desire and was very pleased with 
it. The grocer' s thoughts, on receiving this 
message, can easily be imagined, 

11 Just at this time a carrier called who did 
most of the collecting of goods from the 
various wharves* Acting on the spur of the 
moment, and not wishing to explain too fully 


the manner in which he had been done, the 
grocer asked him to go down to the wharf 
and request the Yankee to come back, as he 
wished to speak to him, The carrier drove 
down to the waterside with as little delay as 
possible, and, seeing the object of his journey 
on the deck of the steamer, gave the grocer's 
message to him, ' Oh, yes/ was the reply, 
* I know what he wants, I was showing him 
a book this morning. I expect he wants to 
buy one. There isn't time for me to go back, 
or I shall lose this boat. You can pay me for 
the book, and he will pay you again when you 
take it to him.' 

" The carrier, being ignorant of the trick 
already played on the grocer, readily pro- 
duced the sovereign and returned with the 
book to his employer. What was said when 
the third copy of the medical book was laid 
on the grocer's counter history does not say, 
but it is certain that American travellers 
never received a kindly reception at that store 

Here is another example of audacious and 
ingenious resourcefulness, sent in by Mr. 
Thomas Russell, 3, Fleet Road, Hampstead, 
N,tt\ :— 

<f A baker's barrow was standing un- 
attended in a side street when a shabby man, 
by his appearance hard up and evidently out 
of work, looking round and seeing no one 
about, lifted the lid and quickly abstracted 
two loaves. He had one in each hand, just 
as the baker came out of a gateway close by. 

" The baker rushed up and, in a loud voice, 
demanded what he was doing there, 

i( The man calmly commenced weighing 
the loaves one against the other ■ then, turning 
to the baker, said : — 

lt * I was just wondering whether your loaf 
was heavier than mine, as my baker gives 
short weight ! T 

" * You put my loaf down and clear out 
of it.' 

i4 The man immediately dropped one back 
into the barrow, and with the exclamation, 
' All right, old chap, don't get nasty/ made 
a rapid retreat will* the oth^r loaf." 




' L 1 W'A S J U ST WON 1) K ft 1 N ( I WH Kl U fc K Y O U K LOA K WAS H HA V I E R 

But there is brazen audacity 
of all sorts and degrees of in- 
genuity- The next, though 
not new, is unique. 

" A wealthy gentleman/' 
writes Mr, John F, Walls, of 
New London, Connecticut, 
U.S.A., " died leaving his 
properly to the three leading 
religious sects, stipulating, 
however, that the representa- 
tives of each should attend his 
funeral and deposit one thou- 
sand dollars each in his coffin. 
The deceased was known to be 
highly eccentric, and all three 
of the destined beneficiaries 
complied. The priest stepped 
forward and deposited his 
thousand dollars in paper 
money ; the clergyman put in 
a like sum in gold, and was 
followed by a devout Hebrew, 
who laid in his required con- 
tribution and, after fumbling 
about the coffin, retired- A 
week later, when the pro- 
perty had realized a consider- 
able sum, the trio met, and, 
after some conversation, the 
first two mentioned their 
buried sums in gold and bank- 
notes. * What sort of money 
did you put in ? ' they asked 
the Jew. The latter smiled, 
( Oh, gentlemen, I put in a 
cheque for three thousand 
dollars and took out the 
change / s " 

To Mr. A. Garnett, 4, Redan Street, 
Ipswich, we are indebted for the follow- 
ing :— 

" Mrs, R- — — lives in a semi-detached villa 
with a neat little garden back and front* 
She has a particular fancy for primroses, 
although last year, on a certain date, she had 
fewer than she desired. There were enough 
for the front garden, but none in the back. 
One morning a man brought round to the 
back door a quantity of healthy-looking 
roots, and Mrs. R— was glad to buy his 
whole stock 

" An hour later, on going to the front door, 
she discovered that the hawker had merely 
dug up the roots from the front garden, and, 
with colossal impudence, had carried them 
round the house lo sell again to their owner 

for the back." 

by \jC 


Here is a case of cold-blooded effrontery, 
related by Mr. T. Robinson, 59, Hazlewdl 
Road, Pumev : — 

li One day a thief went into a small com- 
mercial hotel, where there was no porter, 
and took all the top-hats which he could lay 
his hands upon. Just as he was going out a 
commercial traveller entered and asked him 
what he was doing there. Without the 
slightest hesitation the thief promptly 
replied : M ! m taking them round to be 
ironed, sir. Absolutely no charge," and con- 
tinued, with the utmost coolness, 4 And can 
I oblige you by taking yours as well, sir ? * 

" To this the traveller readily assented. 

11 * Well, as it's free and there's no charge, 
you might as well take mine, though it's 
nearly new and doesn't really want doing. y 

" Thereupon the tlnef quickly walked out 




leaving the other to awaken to his loss, a 
sadder but a wiser man." 

From hats we turn to beds, which are 
naturally far more rarely the object of the 
swindler's attentions. The story is sent by 
Mr. A. J P Romeril, Beaumont, Jersey: — 

"The proprietor of a shop, hearing an 
unusual noise upstairs, went to investigate, 
and found a man on the landing with a huge 
bundle of bedding, and of course asked what 
business he had there* 

" * Pve come with the bed/ said the man. 

u ' What bed ? I've ordered none/ 

"' Aren't you Mr. ?' 

" * No, certainly not ; so just clear out at 
once. And another time you ring at the side 

" The man apologized for hi* mistake, and 
then got the bundle on his 
back, the proprietor helping 
him f as it was so unwieldy, 
and seeing him out of the 

(l His disgust may be 
better imagined than descri- 
bed when he discovered 
some hours later that he had 
assisted in the removal of 
his own feather bed, pillowsj 
and bedding ! " 

The following case of 
colossal impudence is said 
by Mr. Thomas MtGrath, 2 T 
Cross Avenue, Dublin, to be 
well authenticated. But the 
same story is related as 
having taken place in Hong- 
Kong and in an American 

" The Four Courts, Dublin, 
are a massive pile of build- 
ings situated on the bank of 
the River Liffey. Within 
these walls takes place all 
the principal law business of 
the City of Dublin* One day 
during the hearing of a 
celeb ra t ed la w -su i t , within 
the great hall of justice, a 
slight interruption was 
caused by the appearance at 
the entrance to the hall of a 
man carrying on his shoulder 
a long ladder who * came to 
take away the big clock to 
mend it/ The man's errand 
was notified to the judge, 

who sent round word that the man 
should * take down the clock and be smart 
about it.' The man obeyed his lordship's 
order to the letter , but from that day to this 
nobody has seen either the man with the 
ladder or the fine clock which for so long had 
told the time of day to the law in Dublin." 

Frequently a brazen impudence supplies 
the omission of a card of invitation to private 
parties. It is occasionally useful at public 
demonstrations. Miss E. Newton, 2 f St. 
John's Terrace., King's Lynn, sends us the 
following : — 

"Two gentlemen of the writer's acquaint- 
ance travelled some years ago from King's 
Lynn to Manchester, to hear the late Right 
lion, \\\ E, Gladstone address a political 
meeting. Reaching their destination somewhat 

THK MAN COI 1 1 1 K HliNDLEftra^lS-llJa;^ ..'IHK PkOPRIRTOR 




late, they were dismayed to find the meeting 
so crowded that all hope of hearing the great 
orator seemed at an end, Mr. R- , how- 
ever, was of a resourceful nature ; moreover, 
he possessed a remarkably powerful voice. 
Raising the latter to its utmost capacity and 
gently urging his friend forward, he com- 

presumption, of some shoppers has passed 
into a proverb. 

" A stout old lady," writes Mr. James B, 
Thomson, 26, Grosvenor Place, Aberdeen, 
" entered a drapery establishment on a very 
warm day and, dropping heavily on a chair, 
asked to be shown a pair of blankets. The 
assistant quickly pro- 
duced a light pair, and 
these the lady abruptly 
dismissed and called 
for better quality. The 
shopman it turned with 


manded the audience to ' make way for his 
lordship.' Immediately a pathway opened, 
and a repetition of this 'Open Sesame 3 
admitted the impostors to the best position 
the hall afforded, whtre they sat and enjoyed 
Mr. Gladstone's speech in comfort," 

The cool cheek, not to say the intolerable 

a heavy pare el , and the would-be customer 
was soon engaged making a cursory examina- 
tion of the midnight covering, 

u Another refusal made it necessary for 
the assistant to descend to the cellar, w r hence 
he returned with a huge package, The 
perspiration was dropping from his brow 
as he unfolded, jhe^ goods L .f° r his client's 

uniolaed the jroods t 




inspection. With a patronizing air, the lady 
inquired if this was all the stock, and the 
assistant was about to ascend to a shelf near 
the ceiling when the lady 'continued : ' Oh, 
it really doesn't matter. * I don't require 
blankets meantime, but I'was just waiting 
for my daughter, who is making some pur- 
chases next door, and I merely came in to rest 
for a moment. Thanks.' " 

Rewards do not always flow directly to the 
deserving, as we are reminded by the following 
from Mr. Charles Lynch, 10, Daulby Street, 
Liverpool : — 

" One Saturday night a cornet-player stood 
outside a public-house, rendering with much 
feeling ' Because I Love You.' A seedy- 
looking individual passing by stopped to 
listen. By and by, as the cornet-player 
began on the second verse, the seedy one 
walked into the public-house, and, doffing 
his cap, coolly began to solicit contributions 
1 For the musicians, gentlemen, please.' 

" Coppers flowed into his cap, and when at 
length the performer outside entered to ask 
for patronage, he found that the generous 
largesse had just been given to his * mate,' 
who, of course, had made a timely disappear- 

An amusing nstance of " cheek " (though 
not from the victim's point of view) comes 
from Miss Hockheimer, Manchester : — 

" A gentleman, on returning home from 
town, discovered that his valuable gold 
repeater had been stolen from his waistcoat- 
pocket. As the watch was an exceptionally 
fine one, he determined to try to recover it 
at all costs, and advertised offering a reward 
of five pounds, ' and no questions asked.' 
Next day a seedy-looking individual pre- 
sented himself, handed over the watch, and 
duly received the promised reward. * And 
now,' said the gentleman, who prided himself 
on his astuteness, and was anxious to know 
how he had been ' done,' ' just show me how 
you took it without my noticing, and you shall 
have another sovereign.' 

" ' Nowt easier, guv'nor,' replied the pick- 
pocket ; l you was just lookin' inter t' shop- 
winder ; I slips me 'and inter yer weskit- 
pocket, like this ' (suiting the action to the 
word), ' presses the swivel, and out nips the 
ticker as easy as winkin'.' 

" * Well, my man, here's your sovereign, 

and don't do it again. Vou W6h't get off so 
easily next time,' 

" The man departed with his six pounds, well 
content, and, not less pleased with the return 
of his watch, the gentleman called to his wife : 
* Maria, come down here quickly ! ' 

" ' Whatever's the matter, John ? " 

" * Just fancy ! I've had a man here in 
answer to my advertisement, and he'$ 
actually brought back my watch.' 

" * Well, I never ! However did he manage 
to take it without your noticing ? ' 

" * Ah, my dear, I gave him an extra 
sovereign to show me that ! It really was 
quite simple ; I can't think how I didn't 
catch him at it. He just put his hand in my 

waistcoat-pocket, like this, and Good 

heavens, he's gone and taken it again ! ' " 

But for barefaced impertinence, unaccom- 
panied by roguery, it would be hard to beat 
the following : — 

" A few years back, when the old horse- 
drawn trams were still in vogue, a well- 
dressed man hailed one in the Westminster 
Bridge Road. The conductor brought his 
charge to a standstill and impatiently awaited 
the approach of his prospective passenger, 
who, on coming up, took a match from his 
pocket and, striking it against the side of the 
car, lit a cigar. 

" ' That's all I wanted,' he remarked, as 
he strolled leisurely away. ' You can get 
along now.' " 

The foregoing we owe to Mr. S. Benyon, 
Belsize, Baldslow Road, Hastings, who also 
sends the following : — 

" A man strolled into a tobacconist's in 
Chiswick and asked for a shilling's worth of 
cigars. He was served. 

" * On second thoughts,' said he, replacing 
them on the counter, ' I'd prefer cigarettes. 
You'll change these cigars for them ? ' 

" * Certainly, sir.' 

" The customer put the cigarettes in his 
pocket and turned towards the door. 

" ' Excuse me, sir,' cried the shopman, 
' but you haven't paid for the cigarettes.' 

" * Certainly not,' retorted the other, 
indignantly ; ' didn't I give you the cigars 
in exchange ? There are your cigars on the 
counter.' And the stranger walked away, 
leaving the tobacconist uncertain which of 
them was the rogue and which the victim." 

by Google 

Original from 


many of our readers will 
be attending the Coronation 
Exhibition at the White City, 
Shepherd's Bush, that we 
make no apology for drawing 
their attention to the stand 
devoted to The Strand 
Magazine and other publications of Messrs, 
George Newnes, Ltd* It is easily found, for 

Roberts, IL G. Wells, E. Phillips Oppenheim, 
Max Pemberton, and Charles Garvice, and of 
a poem by Rudyard Kipling. The whole of 
the manuscript of * The White Prophet," 
by Hall Caine, is also on view. It runs, as 
may be imagined, to a vast number of pages, 
covered with neat, almost microscopic, hand- 
writing, with innumerable annotations on the 
fly-leaves, the whole being bound in green 

the Press Section is one of the most prominent 
features of the Exhibition, and the Newnes 
stand is in the centre of the hall. It is 
designed to represent an old-time hook-shop, 
and admirably serves its purpose of showing 
to advantage a most varied and interesting 

The feature that will probably prove the 
greatest attraction to readers of this magazine 
is a collection of the original manuscripts of a 
number of famous Strand writers. Here, for 
instance, may be seen the original of Sir 
Arthur Conan Doyle's story, " The Adventure 
of the Dancing Men," which readers will not 
need reminding was one of the best of the 
Sherlock Holmes stories. Among the others 
are MSS, of stories by W. W. Jacobs, Morlev 

DiqilizM by viOWl I 

feu .Yr"H-Nrn, I f Ut 

cloth, with the title and tb Grvel>a Castle 
Library " in gold letters. 

A glance round the stand reveals many 
other interesting items, such as & proof of 
an article on Queen Victoria's dolls, with 
corrections in Her late Majesty's own hand- 
writing, and a Royal copy of The Strand 
bound in satin. Visitors can also obtain 
an insight into the production of the 
magazine, for here they have placed before 
them the various stages of the process, with 
explanatory notes which make everything 

Want of space precludes reference to many 
of the other contents of the stand, but these 
visitors may safely be trusted to discover for 
themselv^f i g i n a If ro m 


Juditk Lcc: Pages from Her Life. 


Illustrated ty W. R. S. Stott. 

[A new detective method is such & rare thing that it is with unusual pleasure we introduce our 
readers to Judith Lee, the fortunate possessor of a gift which gives her a place apart in detective 
fiction. Mr. Marsh's heroine is one whose fortunes, we predict with confidence, will be followed 

with the greatest interest from month to month.] 

L-Tkc Man Wko Cut Off My Hair. 

Y name is Judith Lee. I am 
a teacher of the deaf and 
dumb. I teach them by 
what is called the oral system 
— that is, the lip-reading sys- 
tem. When people pronounce 
a word correctly they all 
make exactly the same movements with 
their lips, so that, without hearing a sound, 
you only have to watch them very closely to 
know what they are saying. Of course, this 
needs practice, and some people do it better 
and quicker than others. I suppose I must 
have a special sort of knack in that direction, 
because I do not remember a time when, by 
merely watching people speaking at a dis- 
tance, no matter at what distance if I could 
see them clearly, I did not know what they 
were saying. In my case the gift, or knack, 
or whatever it is, is hereditary. My father 
was a teacher of the deaf and dumb — a very 
successful one. His father was, I believe, 
one of the originators of the oral system. My 
mother, when she was first married, had an 
impediment in her speech which practically 
made her dumb ; though she was stone deaf, 
she became so expert at lip-reading that she 
could not only tell what others were saying, 
but she could speak herself — audibly, although 
she could not hear her own voice. 

So, you see, I have lived in the atmosphere 
of lip-reading all my life. When people, as 
they often do, think my skill at it borders on 
the marvellous, I always explain to them that 
it is nothing of the kind, that mine is simply 
a case of " practice makes perfect." This 
knack of mine, in a way, is almost equivalent 
to another sense. It has led me into the 
most singular situations, and it has been the 
cause of many really extraordinary adven- 
tures. I will tell you of one which happened 
to me when I was quite a child, the details of 
which have never faded from my memory. 
My father and mother were abroad, and I 

Copyright, 1911, 

was staying, with some old and trusted 
servants, in a little cottage which we had in 
the country. I suppose I must have been 
between twelve and thirteen years of age. I 
was returning by train to the cottage from a 
short visit which I had been paying to some 
friends. In my compartment there were two 
persons besides myself — an elderly woman 
who sat in front of me, and a man who was 
at the other end of her seat. At a station 
not very far from my home the woman got 
out ; a man got in and placed himself beside 
the one who was already there. I could see 
they were acquaintances — they began to talk 
to each other. 

They had been talking together for some 
minutes in such low tones that you could not 
only not hear their words, you could scarcely 
tell that they were speaking. But that made 
no difference to me ; though they spoke in 
the tiniest whisper I had only to look at their 
faces to know exactly what they were saying. 
As a matter of fact, happening to glance up 
from the magazine I was reading, I saw the 
man who had been there first say to the other 
something which gave me quite a start. 
W T hat he said was this (I only saw the fag-end 
of the sentence) : — ■ 

"... Myrtle Cottage ; it's got a great, 
old myrtle in the front garden." 

The other man said something, but as his 
face was turned from me I could not see what ; 
the tone in which he spoke was so subdued 
that hearing was out of the question. The 
first man replied (whose face was to me) : — 

" His name is Colegate. He's an old 
bachelor, who uses the place as a summer 
cottage. I know him well — all the dealers 
know him. He's got some of the finest old 
silver in England. There's a Charles II. salt- 
cellar in the place which would fetch twenty 
pounds an ounce anywhere." 

The other man sat up erect and shook 
his head, looking straight in front of him, so 

by Richard Ihrft ERS | jy Q p MICHIGAN 



that I could see what he said, though he spoke 
only in a whisper. 

" Old silver is no better than new ; you 
can only melt it." 

The other man seemed to grow quite warm. 

" Only melt it ! Don't be a fool ; you 
don't know what you're talking about. I 
can get rid of old silver at good prices to 
collectors all over the world ; they don't ask 
too many questions when they think they're 
getting a bargain. That stuff at Myrtle 
Cottage is worth to us well over a thousand ; 
I shall be surprised if I don't get more for it." 

The other man must have glanced at me 
while I was watching his companion speak. 
He was a fair-haired man, with a pair of light- 
blue eyes, and quite a nice complexion. 
He whispered to his friend : — 

" That infernal kid is watching us as if she 
were all eyes." 

The other said : " Let her watch. Much 
good may it do her ; she can't hear a word — 
goggle-eyed brat ! " 

What he meant by " goggle-eyed " I didn't 
know, and it was true that I could not hear ; 
but, as it happened, it was not necessary that 
I should. I think the other must have been 
suspicious, because he replied, if possible in a 
smaller whisper than ever : — 

" I should like to twist her skinny neck and 
throw her out on to the line." 

He looked as if he could do it too ; such an 
unpleasant look came into his eyes that it 
quite frightened me. After all, I was alone 
with them ; I was quite small ; it would 
have been perfectly easy for him to have done 
what he said he would like to. So I glanced 
back at my magazine, and left the rest of their 
conversation un watched. 

But I had heard, or rather seen, enough 
to set me thinking. I knew Myrtle Cottage 
quite well, and the big myrtle tree ; it was 
not very far from our own cottage. And I 
knew Mr. Colegate and his collection of old 
silver — particularly that Charles II. salt- 
cellar of which he was so proud. What inte- 
rest had it for these two men ? Had Mr. 
Colegate come to the cottage ? He was not 
there when I left. Or had Mr. and Mrs. 
Baines, who kept house for him — had they 
come ? I was so young and so simple that 
it never occurred to me that there could be 
anything sinister about these two whispering 

They both of them got out at the station 
before ours. Ours was a little village station, 
with a platform on only one side of the line ; 
the one at which they got out served for quite 
an important place — our local market town. 

I thought no more about them, but t did 
think of Mr. Colegate and of Myrtle Cottage. 
Dickson, our housekeeper, said that she did 
not believe that anyone was at the cottage, 
but she owned that she was not sure. So 
after tea I went for a stroll, without saying a 
word to anyone — Dickson had such a trouble- 
some habit of wanting to know exactly where 
you were going. My stroll took me to Myrtle 

It stood all by itself in a most secluded 
situation on the other side of Woodbarrow 
Common. You could scarcely see the house 
from the road — it was quite a little house. 
When I got into the garden and saw that the 
front-room window was open I jumped to the 
very natural conclusion that someone must 
be there. I went quickly to the window — I 
was on the most intimate terms with every- 
one about the place ; I should never have 
dreamt of announcing my presence in any 
formal manner — and looked in. What I saw 
did surprise me. 

In the room was the man of the train — the 
man who had been in my compartment first. 
He had what seemed to me to be Mr. Cole- 
gate's entire collection of old silver spread 
out on the table in front of him, and that very 
moment he was holding up that gem of the 
collection — the Charles II. salt-cellar. I had 
moved very quietly, meaning to tajce Mr. 
Colegate — if it was he — by surprise ■ but I 
doubt if I had made a noise that that man 
would have heard me, he was so wrapped up 
in that apple of Mr. Colegate's eye. 

I did not know what to make of it at all. 
I did not know what to think. What was 
that man doing there ? What was I to do ? 
Should I speak to him ? I was just trying 
to make up my mind when someone from 
behind lifted me right off my feet and, putting 
a hand to my throat, squeezed it so tightly 
that it hurt me. 

" If you make a sound I'll choke the life 
right out of you. Don't you make any mis- 
take about it— I will ! " 

He said that out loudly enough, though it 
was not so very loud either — he spoke so 
close to my ear. I could scarcely breathe, 
but I could still see, and I could see that the 
man who held me so horribly by the throat 
was the second man of the train. The 
recognition seemed to be mutual. 

" If it isn't that infernal brat ! She seemed 
to be all eyes in the railway carriage, and, my 
word, she seems to have been all ears too." 

The first man had come to the window. 

" What's up ? " he asked. " Who's that 
kid you've get hold of there ? " 




My captor twisted my face round for the 
other to look at. 

" Can't you see for yourself ? I felt, some- 
how, that she was listening." 

" She couldn't have heard, even if she wis ; 
no one could have heard what we were saying. 
Hand her in here," I was passed through 
the window to the other, who kept as tight 
a grip on my throat as his friend had clone. 

" Who are you ? " he asked. " I T 11 give 
you a chance to answer, but if you try to 
scream I'll twist your head right off you." 

He loosed his grip just enough to enable 
me to answer if i wished. But I did not wish. 
I kept perfectly still. His companion said : — 

" What's the use of wasting time ? Slit 
her throat and get done with it." 

He took from the table a dreadful-looking 
knife, with a blade eighteen inches long, which 
I knew very well. Mr. Colegate had it in his 
collection because of its beautifully-chased. 

massive silver handle. It had belonged to 
one of the old Scottish chieftains ; Mr. Cole- 
gate would sometimes make me go all over 
goose-fiesh by telling me of some of the awful 
things for which, in the old, lawless , blood- 
thirsty days in Scotland, it was supposed to 
have been used. I knew that he kept it in 
beautiful condition, with the edge as sharp 
as a razor. So you can fancy what my feel- 
ings were when that man drew the blade 
across my throat, so close to the skin that 
it all but grazed me. 

" Before you cut her throat/' observed 
his companion, (i we'll tie her up. We'll 
make short work of her. This bit of rope 
will about do the dodge." 

He had what looked to me like a length of 
clothes-line in his hand. With it, between 
them, they tied me to a great oak chair, so 
tight that it seemed to cut right into me, and, 
lest I should scream with the pain, the man 


Vol. xliL-Sa 


II 71 THAT hRKA^FUlQflflffl^AwifinTHK WHOLE 

om my m«i>.riMivERSITY OF MICHIGAN 



with the blue eyes tied something across my 
mouth in a way which made it impossible 
for me to utter a sound. Then he threatened 
me with that knife again, and just as I made 
sure he was going to cut my throat he caught 
hold of my hair, which, of course, was hanging 
down my back, and with that dreadful knife 
sawed the whole of it from my head. 

If I could have got within reach of him at 
that moment I believe that I should have 
stuck that knife into him. Rage made me 
half beside myself. He had destroyed what 
was almost the dearest thing in the world to 
me — not because of my own love of it, but 
on account of my mother's. My mother had 
often quoted to me, " The glory of a woman 
is her hair," and she would add that mine was 
very beautiful. There certainly was a great 
deal of it. She was so proud of my hair that 
she had made me proud of it too — for her sake. 
And to think that this man could have robbed 
me of it in so hideous a way ! I do believe 
that at the moment I could have killed him. 

I suppose he saw the fury which possessed 
me, because he laughed and struck me across 
the face with my own hair. 

" I've half a mind to cram it down your 
throat," he said. " It didn't take me long 
to cut it off, but I'll cut your throat even 
quicker — if you so much as try to move, my 
little dear." 

The other man said to him : — 

" She can't move and she can't make a 
sound either. You leave her alone. Come 
over here and attend to business." 

" I'll learn her," replied the other man, 
and he lifted my hair above my head and let 
it fall all over me. 

They proceeded to wrap up each piece of 
Mr. Colegate's collection in tissue paper, and 
then to pack the whole into two queer-shaped 
bags — pretty heavy they must have been. 
It was only then that I realized what they 
were doing — they were stealing Mr. Colegate's 
collection ; they were going to take it away. 
The fury which possessed me as I sat there, 
helpless, and watched them ! The pain was 
bad enough, but my rage was worse. When 
the man who had cut off my hair moved to 
the window with one of the bags held in both 
his hands — it was as much as he could carry 
— he said to his companion with a glance 
towards me : " Hadn't I better cut her 
throat before I go ? " 

" You can come and do that presently," 
replied the other; "you'll find her waiting." 
Then he dropped his voice and I saw him say : 
" Now you quite understand ? " The other 
Bo<}de<j. "What is it?" 

The face of the man who had cut my hair 
was turned towards me. He put his lips 
very close to the other, speaking in the tiniest 
whisper, which he never dreamed could reach 
my ears : " Cotterill, Cloak-room, Victoria 
Station, Brighton Railway." 

The other whispered, " That's right. You'd 
better make a note of it ; we don't want any 

" No fear, I'm not likely to forget. Then 
he repeated his previous words, " Cotterill, 
Cloak-room, Victoria Station, Brighton Rail- 

He whispered this so very earnestly that 
I felt sure there was something about the 
words which was most important ; by the 
time he had said them a second time they 
were printed on my brain quite as indelibly 
as they were on his. He got out of the 
window and his bag was passed to him ; 
then he spoke a parting word to me. 

" Sorry I can't take a lock of your hair 
with me ; perhaps I'll come back for one 

Then he went. If he had known the 
passion which was blazing in my heart ! That 
allusion to my desecrated locks only made it 
burn still fiercer. His companion, left alone, 
paid no attention to me whatever. He con- 
tinued to secure his bag, searched the room, 
as if for anything which might have been 
overlooked, then, bearing the bag with the 
other half of Mr. Colegate's collection with 
him, he went through the door, ignoring my 
presence as if I had never existed. What 
he did afterwards I cannot say ; I saw no 
more of him ; I was left alone — all through 
the night. 

What a night it was. I was not afraid ; I 
can honestly say that I have seldom been 
afraid of anything — I suppose it is a matter of 
temperament — but I was most uncomfortable, 
very unhappy, and each moment the pain 
caused me by my bonds seemed to be growing 
greater. I do believe that the one thing 
which enabled me to keep my senses all 
through the night was the constant repetition 
of those mystic words : Cotterill, Cloak-room, 
Victoria Station, Brighton Railway. In the 
midst of my trouble I was glad that what 
some people call my curious gift had enabled 
me to see what I was quite sure they had never 
meant should reach my understanding. What 
the words meant I had no notion ; in them- 
selves they seemed to be silly words. But 
that they had some hidden, weighty meaning 
I was so sure that I kept saying them over 
and over airam lest they should slip through 




I do not know if I ever closed my eyes ; I 
certainly never slept, 1 saw the first gleams 
of Ijght usher in the dawn of another morning, 
and I knew the sun had risen. I wondered 
what they were doing at home — between the 
repetitions of that cryptic phrase. Was 
Dickson looking for me ? I rather wished I 
had let her know where I was going, then she 
might have had some idea of where to look. 
As it was she had none* I had some acquaint- 
ances three or four miles off, with whom I 
would sometimes go to tea and, without 
warning to anyone at home, stay the night. 
I am afraid that, even as a child , my habits 
were erratic^ Dickson might think I was 
staying with them, and, if so 7 she would not 
even trouble to look for me. In that case I 
might have to stay where I was for days* 
, I do not know what time it was, but it 
seemed to me that it had been light for weeks, 
and that the day must be nearly gone, when 
1 heard steps outside the open window. I 
was very nearly in a state of stupor, but I 

had still sense enough to wonder if it was that 
man who had cut my hair come back again 
to cut my throat. As I watched the open 
sash my heart began to beat more vigorously 
than it had for a very long time. What then 
was my relief when there presently appeared, 
on the other side of it, the face of Mr* Colegate, 
the owner of Myrtle Cottage, I tried to 
scream —with joy, but that cloth across my 
mouth prevented my uttering a sound. 

I never shall forget the look which came 
on Mr. Colegate's face when he saw me. He 
rested his hands on the sill as if he wondered 
how the window came to he open, then when he 
looked in and saw me, what a jump he gave* 

"Judith!" he exclaimed. "Judith Lee! 
Surely it is Judith Lee ! " 

He was a pretty old man, or he seemed so 
to me, but I doubt if a boy could have got 
through that window quirker than he did* 
He was by my side in less than no time ; with 
a knife which he took from his pocket was 
severing my bonds. The agony which came 

C I sat up in bep. 





over me as they were loosed ! It was worse 
than anything which had gone before. The 
moment my mouth was free I exclaimed — 
even then I was struck by the funny, hoarse 
voice in which I seemed to be speaking : — 

" Cotterill, Cloak-room, Victoria Station, 
Brighton Railway/' 

So soon as I had got those mysterious words 
out of my poor, parched throat I fainted ; 
the agony I was suffering, the strain which I 
had gone through, proved too much for me. 
I knew dimly that I was tumbling into Mr. 
Colegate's arms, and then I knew no more. 

When I came back to life I was in bed. 
Dickson was at my bedside, and Dr. Scott, 
and Mr. Colegate, and Pierce, the village 
policeman, and a man who I afterwards knew 
was a detective, who had been sent 
haste from a neighbouring town. I wondered 
where I was, and then I saw I was in a room 
in Myrtle Cottage. I sat up in bed, put up 
my hands — then it all came back to me. 

" He cut off my hair with MacGregor's 
knife ! " MacGregor was the name of the 
Highland chieftain to whom, according to Mr. 
Colegate, that dreadful knife had belonged. 

When it did all come back to me and I 
realized what had happened, and felt how 
strange my head seemed without its accus- 
tomed covering, nothing would satisfy me 
but that they should bring me a looking-glass. 
When I saw what I looked like the rage which 
had possessed me when the outrage first took 
place surged through me with greater force 
than ever. Before they could stop me, or even 
guess what I was going to do, I was out of bed 
and facing them. That cryptic utterance 
came back to me as if of its own initiative ; 
it burst from my lips. 

" Cotterill, Cloak-room, Victoria Station, 
Brighton Railway ! Where are my clothes ? 
That's where the man is who cut off my hair." 

They stared at me. I believe that for a 
moment they thought that what I had endured 
had turned my brain, and that I was mad. 
But I soon made it perfectly clear that I was 
nothing of the kind. I told them my story 
as fast as I could speak ; I fancy I brought it 
home to their understanding. Then I told 
them of the words which I had seen spoken 
in such a solemn whisper, and how sure I 
was that they were pregnant with weighty 

" Cotterill, Cloak-room, Victoria Station, 
Brighton Railway — that's where the man is 
who cut my hair off — that's where I'm going 
to catch him." 

The detective was pleased to admit that 
there might be something in my theory, and 

that it would be worth while to go up to 
Victoria Station to see what the words might 
mean. Nothing would satisfy me but that 
we should go at once. I was quite convinced 
that every, moment was of importance, and 
that if we were not quick we should be too 
late. I won Mr. Colegate over — of course, he 
was almost as anxious to get his collection 
back as I was to be quits with the miscreant 
who had shorn me of my locks. So we went 
up to town by the first train we could catch — 
Mr. Colegate, the detective, and an excited 
and practically hairless child. 

When we got to Victoria Station we 
marched straight up to the cloak-room, and 
the detective said to one of the persons on 
the other side of the counter : — 

" Is there a parcel here for the name of 
Cotterill ? " 

The person to whom he had spoken did 
not reply, but another man who was standing 
by his side. 

" Cotterill ? A parcel for the name of 
Cotterill has just been taken out — a hand-bag, 
scarcely more than half a minute ago. You 
must have seen him walking off with it as 
you came up. He can hardly be out of sight 
now." Leaning over the counter, he loeked 
along the platform. " There he is — someone 
is just going to speak to him." 

I saw the person to whom he referred — a 
shortish man in a light grey suit, carrying a 
brown leather hand-bag. I also saw the per- 
son who was going to speak to him ; and 
thereupon I ceased to have eyes for the man 
with the bag. I broke into exclamation. 

" There's the man who cut my hair ! " I 
cried. I went rushing along the platform as 
hard as I could go. Whether the man had 
heard me or not I cannot say ; I dare say I 
had spoken loudly enough ; but he gave one 
glance in my direction, and when he saw me 
I have no doubt that he remembered. He 
whispered to the man with the bag. I was 
near enough to see, though not to hear, what 
he said. In spite of the rapidity with which 
his lips were moving, I saw quite distinctly. 

" Bantock, 13, Harwood Street, Oxford 
Street." That was what he said, and no 
sooner had he said it than he turned and fled 
— from me ; I knew he was flying from me, 
and it gave me huge satisfaction to know that 
the mere sight of me had made him run. I 
was conscious that Mr. Colegate and the 
detective were coming at a pretty smart pace 
behind me. 

The man with the bag, seeing his companion 
dart off without the slightest warning, glanced 
round to see what had caused his hasty flight. 




I suppose he saw 
me and the de- 
tective and Mr, 
Co legate j and he 
drew his own 
conclusions. He 
dropped that 
hand-bag as if it 
had been red-hot, 
and off he ran. 
He ran to such 
purpose that we 
never caught him 
—neither him nor 
the man who had 
cut my hair. The 
station was full 
of people — a train 
had just come in. 
The crowd 
streaming out 
covered the plat- 
form with a 
swarm of moving 
figures. They 
acted as cover to 
those two eager 
gentlemen — they 
got clean off, But 
we got the bag ; 
and, one of the 
station officials 
coming on the 
scene^ we were 
shown to an 
apartment where, 
had been made, 
the bag and its 
contents were 

Of course , we had realized from the very 
first moment that Mr, Colcgate*s collection 
could not possibly be in that bag, because it 
was not nearly large enough. When it was 
seen what was in it, something like a sensation 
was created. It was crammed with small 
articles of feminine clothing. In nearly 
every garment jewels were wrapped, which 
fell out of them as they were withdrawn from 
the bag. Such jewels ! You should have 
seen the display they made when they were 
spread out upon the leather-covered table — 
and our faces as we stared at them, 

11 This does not look like my collection of 
old silver," observed Mr. ( olegate. 

M No," remarked a big, broad-shouldered 
man, who I afterwards learned was a well- 
known London detective, who had been 


induced by our detective to join our party. 
" This does not look like your collection of 
old silver, sit ; it looks ? if you'll excuse my 
saying so, like something very much more 
worth finding. Unless I am mistaken, these 
are the Duchess of Datchet's jewels, some of 
which she wore at the last Drawing Room, 
and which were taken from her Grace's 
bedroom after her return. The police all 
over Europe have been looking for them for 
more than a month," 

l * That bag has been with us nearly a month. 
The party who took it out paid four- and- 
sixpence for cloak-room charges— twopence 
a day for twenty-seven days," 

The person from the cloak-room had come 
with us to that apartment ; it was he who 
said this. The London defective replied ; — 




" Paid four-and-sixpence, did he ? Well, 
it was worth it — to us. Now, if I could lay 
my hand on the party who put that bag in 
the cloak-room, I might have a word of a 
kind to say to him." 

I had been staring, wide-eyed, as piece by 
piece the contents of the bag had been dis- 
closed ; I had been listening, open-eared, to 
what the detective said ; when he made that 
remark about laying his hands on the party 
who had depositecHhat bag in the cloak-room, 
there came into my mind the words which I 
had seen the man who had cut my hair 
whisper as he fled to the man with the bag. 
The cryptic sentence which I had seen him 
whisper as I sat tied to the chair had indeed 
proved to be full of meaning; the words 
which, even in the moment of flight, he had 
felt bound to utter might be just as full. I 
ventured on an observation, the first which I 
had made, speaking with a good deal of 

" I think I know where he might be found — 
I am not sure, but I think." 

All eyes were turned to me. The detective 
exclaimed : — 

" You think you know ? As we haven't 
got so far as thinking, if you were to tell us, 
little lady, what you think, it might be as 
well, mightn't it ? " 

I considered — I wanted to get the words 
exactly right. 

" Suppose you were to try " — I paused so 
as to make quite sure — " Bantock, 13, 
Harwood Street, Oxford Street." 

" And who is Bantock ? " the detective 
asked. " And what do you know about him, 
anyhow ? " 

" I don't know anything at all about him, 
but I saw the man who cut my hair whisper 
to the other man just before he ran away, 
* Bantock, 13, Harwood Street, Oxford 
Street ' — I saw him quite distinctly." 

" You saw him whisper ? What does the 
girl mean by saying she saw him whisper ? 
Why, young lady, you must have been quite 
fifty feet away. How, at that distance, and 
with all the noise of the traffic, could you hear 
a whisper ? " 

" I didn't say I heard him ; I said I saw 
him. I don't need to hear to know what a 
person is saying. I just saw you whisper to 
the other man, * The young lady seems to be 
by way of being a curiosity.' " 

The London detective stared at our detec- 
tive. He seemed to be bewildered. 

" But I — I don't know how you heard that ; 
I scarcely breathed the words." 

Mr. Colegate explained. When they heard 

they all seemed to be bewildered, and they 
looked at me, as people do look at the present 
day, as if I were some strange and amazing 
thing. The London detective said : — 

" I never heard the like to that. It seems 
to me very much like what old-fashioned 
people called c black magic' " 

Although he was a detective, he could not 
have been a very intelligent person after all, 
or he would not have talked such nonsense. 
Then he added, with an accent on the 
" saw " :— 

" What was it you said you saw him 
whisper ? " 

I bargained before I told him. 

" I will tell you if you let me come with 

" Let you come with me ? " He stared 
still more. " What does the girl mean ? " 

" Her presence," struck in Mr. Colegate, 
" may be useful for purposes of recognition. 
She won't be in the way ; you can do no harm 
by letting her come." 

" If you don't promise to let me come I 
sha'n't tell you." 

The big man laughed. He seemed to find 
me amusing ; I do not know why. If he had 
only understood my feeling on the subject 
of my hair, and how I yearned to be even 
with the man who had wrought me what 
seemed to me such an irreparable injury. 
I daresay it sounds as if I were very revenge- 
ful. I do not think it was a question of 
vengeance only ; I wanted justice. The 
detective took out a fat note-book. 

" Very well ; it's a bargain. Tell me what 
you saw him whisper, and you shall come." 
So I told him again, and he wrote it down. 
" ' Bantock, 13, Harwood Street, Oxford 
Street.' I know Harwood Street, though I 
don't know Mr. Bantock. But he seems to 
be residing at what is generally understood 
to be an unlucky number. Let me get a 
message through to the Yard — we may want 
assistance. Then we'll pay a visit to Mr. 
Bantock — if there is such a person. It 
sounds like a very tall story to me." 

I believe that even then he doubted if I 
had seen what I said I saw. When we did 
start I was feeling pretty nervous, because I 
realized that if we were going on a fool's 
errand, and there did turn out to be no 
Bantock, that London detective would doubt 
me more than ever. And, of course, I could 
not be sure that there was such a person, 
though it was some comfort to know that 
there was a Harwood Street. We went four 
in a cab — the two detectives, Mr. Colegate 
and I. We had gone some distance before 




the cab stopped. The London detective 
said : — 

" This is Harwood Street ; I told the driver 
to stop at the corner — we will walk the rest 
of the way. A cab might arouse suspicion ; 
you never know." 

It was a street full of shops. No. 13 
proved to be a sort of curiosity shop and 
jeweller's combined ; quite a respectable- 
looking place, and sure enough over the top 
of the window was the name " Bantock." 

" That looks as if, at any rate, there were 
a Bantock/' the big man said ; it was quite 
a weight off my own mind when I saw the 

Just as we reached the shop a cab drew up 
and five men got out, whom the London 
detective seemed to recognize with mingled 

" That's queered the show," he exclaimed. 
I did not know what he meant. " They rouse 
suspicion, if they do nothing else — so in we 

And in we went — the detective first, and I 
close on his heels. There were two young 
men standing close together behind the 
counter. The instant we appeared I saw one 
whisper to the other : — 

" Give them the office — ring the alarm- 
bell— they're 'tecs ! " 

I did not quite know what he meant 
either, but I guessed enough to make me cry 
out : — 

" Don't let him move — he's going to ring 
the alarm-bell and give them the office." 

Those young men were so startled — they 
must have been quite sure that I could not 
have heard — that they both stood still and 
stared ; before they had got over their 
surprise a detective — they were detectives 
who had come in the second cab — had each 
by the shoulder. 

There was a door at the end of the shop 
which the London detective opened. 

" There's a staircase here ; we'd better 
go up and see who's above. You chaps keep 
yourselves handy, you may be wanted — when 
I call you come." 

He mounted the stairs — as before, I was as 
close to him as I could very well get. On the 
top of the staircase was a landing, on to 
which two doors opened. We paused to 
listen ; I could distinctly hear voices coming 
through one of them. 

" I think this is ours," the London detective 

He opened the one through which the voices 
were coming. He marched in — I was still as 
close to him as I could get. In it were several 

men, I did not know how many, and I did 
not care ; I had eyes for only one. I walked 
right past the detective up to the table round 
which some of them were sitting, some stand- 
ing, and stretching out an accusatory arm 
I pointed at one. 

" That's the man who cut off my hair ! " 

It was, and well he knew it. His con- 
science must have smitten him ; I should 
not have thought that a grown man could be 
so frightened at the sight of a child. He 
caught hold, with both hands, of the side of 
the table ; he glared at me as if I were some 
dreadful apparition — and no doubt to him 
I was. It was only with an effort that he 
seemed able to use his voice. 

" Good night ! " he exclaimed, " it's that 
infernal kid ! " 

On the table, right in front of me, I saw 
something with which I was only too familiar. 
I snatched it up. 

" And this is the knife," I cried, " with 
which he did it ! " 

It was ; the historical blade, which had 
once belonged to the sanguinary and, I 
sincerely trust, more or less apocryphal 
MacGregor. I held it out towards the gaping 

" You know that this is the knife with 
which you cut off my hair," I said. " You 
know it is." 

I dare say I looked a nice young termagant 
with my short hair, rage in my eyes, and that 
frightful weapon in my hand. Apparently 
I did not impress him quite as I had intended 
— at least, his demeanour did not suggest it. 

" By the living Jingo ! " he shouted. " I 
wish I had cut her throat with it as well ! " 

It was fortunate for him that he did not. 
Probably, in the long run, he would have 
suffered for it more than he did — though he 
suffered pretty badly as it was. It was his 
cutting my hair that did it. Had he not 
done that I have little doubt that I should 
have been too conscious of the pains caused 
me by my bonds — the marks caused by the 
cord were on my skin for weeks after — to 
pay such close attention to their proceedings 
as I did under the spur of anger. Quite pos- 
sibly that tell-tale whisper would have gone 
unnoticed. Absorbed by my own suffering, 
I should have paid very little heed to the 
cryptic sentence which really proved to be 
their undoing. It was the outrage to my 
locks which caused me to strain every faculty 
of observation I had. He had much better 
have left them alone. 

That was the greatest capture the police 
had made f or"-" ye^ft. In one haul they. 




captured practically every member of a gang 
of cosmopolitan thieves who were wanted by 
the police all over the world. The robbery 
of Mr. Colegate's collection of old silver 
shrank Into insignificance before the rest of 
their misdeeds. And not only were the 
thieves taken themselves, but the proceeds 
of no end of rob- 

It seemed that 
they had met there 
for a sort of annual 
division of the com- 
mon spoil. There 
was an immense 
quantity of valu- 
able property before 
them on the table, 
and lots more about 
the house. Those 
jewels which were 
in the bag which 
had been deposited 
at the cloak-room 
at Victoria Station 
were to have been 
added to the com- 
mon fund — to say 
nothing of Mr. 
Colegate's collec- 
tion of old silver. 

The man who 
called himself Ban- 
tock, and who 
owned the premises 
at 13, Harwood 
Street 3 proved to 
be a well-known 
dealer in precious 
stones and jewellery 
and brtc - a - brae 
and all sorts of 
valuables. He 
was immensely 

rich ; it was shown that a great deal of 
his money had been made by buying and 
selling valuable stolen property of every sort 
and kind. Before the police had done with 
him it was made abundantly clear that, under 
various aliases. In half the countries of the 
world, he had been a wholesale dealer in 
stolen goods. He was sentenced to a long 
term of penal servitude. I am not quite 
sure, hut I believe that he died in jail- 
All the men who were in that room were 
sent to prison for different terms, including 
the man who cut my hair — to say nothing of 
his companion. So far as the proceedings 
at the court were concerned ^ i never appeared 

at all. Compared to some of the crimes 
of which they had been guilty, the robbery 
of Mr, Colegate's silver was held to be a mere 
nothing. They were not charged with it 
at all j so my evidence was not required. 
But every time I looked at my scanty locks^ 
which took years to grow to anything like 

that's tub man who cut okf my haik !" 

a decent length — they had reached to my 
knees, but they never did that again — each 
time I stood before a looking-glass and saw 
what a curious spectacle I presented with my 
closely-clipped poll, something of that old 
rage came back to me which had been during 
that first moment in my heart , and I felt— 
what I felt when I was tied to that chair in 
Myrtle Cottage. I endeavoured to console 
myself, in the spirit of the Old World rather 
than the New, that, owing to the gift which 
was mine, I had been able to cry something 
like quits with the man who, in a moment of 
mere wanton savagery, had deprived me of 
what durKKWP 6eT{Bi _| ^lory of a woman. 



Puzzles ana Solutions. By Henry E. Duaeney, 

5 r,— A NEW 



Heke is a new 
puzzle with moving 
counters, or coins, 
that at first glance 
looks as if it mast 
be absurdly simple. 
But it will be found 
quite a little per- 
plexity. Copy the 
simple diagram, en- 
large d t on a sheet 
of paper ; then 
place two white 
counters on the 
points e and 2, and 
two red counters on 9 and [o. The puzzle is to 
make the red and white change places. You may 
move the counters one at a lime in any order 
Vlju like, along the lines from point to point, with 
the only restriction that a red and a white counter 
may never stand at once on the same straight 
line. Thus the first move can only be from 1 or 2 
to j, or from 9 or 10 to 7. 

52, — A VENEER 
From a square 
sheet of paper or 
cardboard, divided 
into smaller squares, 
7 by 7, as in the 
diagram .cutout the 
eitfht pieces in the 
manner indicated* 
The shaded parts 
are thrown away. 
A cabinet maker 
had to fit together 
these eight pieces 

of veneer to form a small square table-top, fi by 6, 
and he stupidly cut that piece No, & into three parts, 
IIow t would you form the square without cutting 
any one of the pieces? 

An honest dairyman in preparing his milk for public 
consumption employed a can marked H, containing 
milk, and a can marked A, containing water. From 
can A he poured enough to double the contents of can 
B. Then he poured from can B into can A enough to 
double its contents. Then he finally poured from can 
A into can B until their contents were exactly equal. 
After these operations he would send the can A to 
London, and the puzzle is to discover what are the 
relative proportions of milk and water that he provides 
for the Londoners* breakfast -tables. Do they get 
equal pro port ffhs of milk and water — or two parts of 
nolle and one of water — or what ? It is an interesting 
question, though, curiously enough, we are -not told 
how much milk or water he puts into the two can* at 
the start of his operations. 

Digitized by L^OOglC 

Solutions to Last Months Puzzlea, 

The routes taken by the eight drivers are shown in 
the illustration* where the dotted line roads are omitted 
to make the paths clearer to the eye. 

©- 1 













®— J 


THE little jest in this puzzle lies in the fact that 
there is one quite simple solution that is general for 
not only any digit t but any number we may choose to 
select. Thus, four 7's may be made to express too in 
this way: ,f *.$ = ioo. Any number divided by 
the same number preceded by a decimal point equals 
io. Thus, 7 divided by seven -tenths equals 70 divided 
by 7. Substitute any number you like for 7 and the 
result will always be the same. 


Sixteen pawns in all may be placed so that no 
three shall be in a straight line in any possible direc- 

tion, as in the diagram. The words " possible 
direction," of course, include directions other than 
those taken by a rook or a bishop. We regard the 
pawns as mere points on an uuehequered plane. 


I was first offered sixteen apples for my shilling, 
which would he at the rate of nine pence a dozen* 
The i«ih extra apples gave me eighteen for a shilling, 
which is at the rate of ei^htpejiee a dozen, or one 
pennv a dozen less than the first price asked. 

Original from 

Nature- Printing on Leaf Sprays. 

Written » n d Illustrated ly S. LEONARD BASTIN. 

HE idea was suggested to my 
mind quite by chance. On an 
autumn day when the gorgeous 
tints were at their brightest, 
attention was drawn to a 
curious fact in connection with 
a Virginian creeper which was 
rambling over an old summer-house. In the 

exposed situa- 
tions the full 
sunlight had 
turned the foli- 
age to a most 
brilliant crim- 
son, but in 
places where 
the leaves over- 
lapped one an- 
other, or were 
screened in 
some ways 
from the solar 
rays, the tint- 
ing was a clear 
yellow. The 
thought was 
irresistible that, 
by controlling 
this matter of 
light and shade , 
it should be 
possible to carry 
out a somewhat 
novel form of 
nature - print- 
ing, and so add 
to the curious 
possibilities of the garden. In this direction 
some remarkable effects may be secured > and 
it will not, perhaps, be uninteresting briefly 
to outline the method of procedure. 

Perhaps the best kind of creeper on which 
to attempt to make the nature prints is that 
widely known as the Ampelopsis Veitchii. 
The neat habit of growth in this plant ensures 
that each leaf shall be well displayed to the 
light, It is important that the plant on 
which it is decided to experiment should be 
fully exposed to the sunshine, as a good deal 
of the success of the trial depends upon 
this , of course j a south aspect is best of all, 
but any good open situation will do very well. 
The treatment is started some time during 
the summer,when the foliage is fully developed 

! 1 1 i i l . bt 1 1 ■: Its, C P T O u t o f tui n 


and yet has not commenced to u go off " in any 
way j July is perhaps the best time. Good 
sprays of the creeper should be selected on 
which there are eight or a dozen leaves 
of fair size. In the actual printing, paper 
stencils are employed, and these should be cut 
out neatly w ith a pair of fine scissors or a sharp 
knife. It is quite easy to do this if the 
letters are first drawn out on the paper* For 
the purpose of printing, the denser the paper 
the better, as long as it is not very thick* 
In the accompanying examples white paper 
has been employed for photographic effect; 
but it is really better to have it black or brown 
in colour ; this will keep out the light. The 
form of the letters should be rather narrow, 
so that there will be no difficulty in fitting in 
the words on the leaves. Of course, all along 
it is necessary to exercise a little care in 
scheming out the length of the sentences, so 
that they fit well on the sprays of leaves* 
Any kind of greeting or word of welcome is 
peculiarly well suited for printing on the 
leaves of the creeper. 

by Google 


Original from 




The fixing of the k iters on the leaves must 
be accomplished on a perfectly dry day. As 
an adhesive there is probably nothing better 
than pure gum ; this should be used in rather 
a stiff condition, so that the stencils may 
stick well. Arrange the letters in as straight 
a style as possible, so that they look all right 
to the eye j and be quite sure that the edges 
of the stencils are well fastened down. When 
the words are placed, carefully wipe each leaf 
with a moist sponge, doing this gently so that 
the leaves are not dislodged, yet thoroughly 
enough to clean away any gum which 
may be left on the surface of the foliage. 

It is now greatly 

to be hoped that 
the weather will be 
fine and bright. A 
few showers will 
probably not be 
sufficient to dis- 
lodge the paper 
letters when once 
vh ey are well 
dried on, but heavy 
continuous rajn is 
a different matter. 
The creepers on 
which the writer 
experimented were 

growing against a wall, and it was not difficult 
to devise a screening curtain during a wet 
spell by hanging pieces of sacking from nails 
driven into the brickwork. Of course, any 
letters which should happen to become dis- 
lodged may be replaced without injury, 
especially in the early stages before the tint- 
ing of the foliage has started at all. It may 
perhaps be well to mention that every leaf 
on each spray should be quite fully exposed 
to the light, and no overlapping should be 
allowed. In order to ensure this, it may be 
necessary to alter the position of some of the 
foliage. This may be done by looping pieces 
of silk round the stalks of the leaves and 
gently pulling the whole thing over, fastening 
the thread to small nails driven into the 
support up which the creeper is climbing. 

Fine sunny weather is ? of course, most 
desirable if complete success is to be secured. 
Fortunately there is hardly a summer, how- 
evcr bad, in which we do not get a certain 
amount of bright heat during August. At 
this time it will be seen that day by day the 
foliage of the creeper turns a more brilliant 
colour. The sprays should not be allowed so 
long on the plant that there is a danger of 
the leaves falling. Luckily the Ampelopsis 
creeper turns a fine colour some time before 
there is any fear of this happening. As soon 
as the gathering is completed a bowl of luke- 
warm water should be secured, and into this 
the sprays should be placed for a few moments 
until the paper letters come away from the 
foliage j leaving behind them the impress of 
the stencils in yellow or pale green. It will 
be needless to point out that these nature- 
printed leaves may be introduced with curious 
effect into many schemes of decoration. It 
should be mentioned in conclusion that the 
sprays will keep very much longer if the skin 
of the lower part of the stem is cut away 
before it is placed in water. 


^ Google 


Original from 






QC^mneru |/ E - NESBIT - 

Illustratea by 
^g^ H.R, Millar. 

fl (U CH 



HE great discovery was Char- 
lotte's. When they got home 
and found that Lhe uncle had 
gone to Tonbridgo for the day 
everyone felt that something 
must be done, and Rupert began 
to write out the telegram to his 
godfather. It was quite a nice telegram, 
very long, and explaining everything perfectly, 
but Mrs. Wilmington unexpectedly refused to 
lend more than ninepenee, so it could not be 
sent. Caroline sat rocking herself to and 
fro, with her fingers in her ears to shut out 
Charles's comments and advice, and tried 
in vain to think of some way of using a spell 
to help the mineral woman. 

* ( Its no use, you know/ 1 Charles said, 
4t looking up the spells in the books until we 
know how we're going to use it." And 
Caroline had to agree that this was so. 

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" You see," Charlotte 
joined in, *' we mustn't 
give the wicked cousin 
anything to eat to make 
hi til good, and most likely 
we couldn't get at him 
to make him eat it, even 
if we were allowed. What 
a pity we can't get at l lie 
lord with a foreign educa- 
tion, weak from a child." 
She sprang up. "Let's go to the Castle, 
and if he's not there well get another take- 
your -lunch -with -you -cheese -and- cake- will -do 
day and go to London and see him there," 

" You don't know where the Castle is," 
Rupert objected. 

"Yes, I do," said Caroline, *'So there; 
William said the day of the Rupert hunt. 
He said, 'I hoped the boy'd got into the 
Castle grounds* Milord's men 'ud have 
sent Poad about his business pretty sharp if 
he'd gone trespassing there*' So it can't be 
far off." 

" 1*11 tell you what," said Charlotte. « You 
know uncle said, the day after we'd been 
Rosicurians, would we like the carriage to 
go and see Mr. Penfold, only we didn't 
because we knew he'd gone to Canterbury ! 
Now if we could only persuade William that 
going to see Lord Andor is the same thing 
as going to see Mr* Pen fold, and that to-day 
is the same as the other day, well, then . * * 
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People think so much more of you if you go 
in a carriage." 

"And what will you do when you get 
there ? " Rupert asked, doubtfully. 

" Why, give him a bunch of magic flowers 
and tell him about the mineral woman." 

" You'll look very silly," Rupert told her, 
"driving up to a lord's house with your 
twopenny-halfpenny flowers, when he's got 
acres of glass most likely." 

" I don't care if he's got miles of glass and 
vineries and pineries and every modern incon- 
venience. He hasn't got flowers that grow 
as true and straight as the ones in the 
wonderful garden. Thomas told me nobody 
had in all the countryside. And they're 
magic flowers, ours are. Oh, Rupert, I wish 
you wouldn't be so grown up." 

41 I'm not," said Rupert ; " it's you that's 

11 You're always being different from what 
we'd made up our minds you were," said 
Charlotte, hotly. " There, now it's out. We 
were sorry for you at firs'. And then we 
liked you ; you were so adventurous and 
splendid. And then you catch a cold and 
go all flat. Why do you do it ? " 

" Non semper vivens arcus" said Rupert, 
and Charles hung on his words. " You can't 
be always the same. It would be dull. 
Besides, I got such a beastly cold. And I'd 
had the adventure. Ycu don't want to go 
on having one dinner after another all day. 
You want a change. I'm being sensible, 
that's all. I dare say I shall be silly again 
some day," he added, consolingly. "A chap 
has to be silly or not moresuis — that means 
4 off his own bat,' Charles." 

" Yes," said Charles, " I'll remember." 

" Well, look here. I'll go and try it on 
with William if you like," said Charlotte ; 
11 but he likes Caroline best, because of what 
she did on the Rupert hunt day." 

" You do rub it in, don't you ? " said 
Rupert. " I wish sometimes you hadn't 
helped me that day." 

There was a silence. Then Charlotte said, 
"You go, Caro. And, Charles, whatever 
happens, you must wash your hands. Go on, 
like a sensible, and do it now, so as not to 
waste time." 

Charles went, when Charlotte assured him 
that if he didn't they would go without him. 
The moment the .door closed behind the 
others she turned to Rupert. 

"Now, look here," she said; "I know 
what's the matter with you. You've got the 
black dog on your back. I don't know what 
dog it is or why. But you have. You 

by V_ 



haven't been a bit nice to-day; you didn't 
play up when you were Rupert of the Rhine. 
And you think you're letting yourself down 
by playing with us. You didn't think that 
the first day wl?en we saved you. Some- 
thing's got into you. Oh, I do believe you're 
bewitched. Rupert, do you think you're 
bewitched ? Because if you are we know 
how to unbe witch you." 

"You're a very silly little girl," was all 
Rupert found to say. 

" Not a bit of it," said Charlotte, brightly. 
" You only say that because you haven't got 
any sisters of your own, so, of course, you 
don't know. We've been as nice to you as 
ever we could be, and you're getting nastier 
and nastier. If you like to be nice, be nice. 
If you don't, I shall know it's not your fault, 
but because you're bewitched, and I shall 
pity, but not despise you. So now you 

Rupert was twisting and untwisting the 
fringed tassel of a sofa-cushion and looking at 
the floor. 

" So you hate me now, I suppose ? " he 

44 No, I don't. But I hate the black dog. 
I thought you were splendid at first. And 
even now I think you're splendid inside, 
really. Only something's happened. It is 
like bewitchment, I do think. Couldn't you 
do anything to stop it ? I'd help you— really 
I would. I say ; I'm sorry if I've scratched 
too hard." 

" You don't understand," said Rupert, with 
what was plainly an effort. "Sometimes I'm 
like this. I feel as if I was someone else 
I can't explain. Now you can laugh if you 
like. I only thought I'd tell you. Don't tell 
the others. It's perfectly beastly. I suppose 
I could help it if I knew the way. Only 
I don't." 

" Suppose you had a bath ? " suggested 
Charlotte. " Aunt Emmeline says when 
children feel naughty you should always 
wash their faces ; and if it's true of children 
it must be true of bigger people," she added, 
hastily, answering Rupert's frown, " because 
your face is made of the same sort of stuff, 
however old you are." 

" That was part of it," said Rupert, " when 
I saw the river to-day. Can you swim ? I 
can. And I promised my father I'd never go 
into the water to swim unless there was some 

man there, and My father's in India, 

you know," he said, unnecessarily. " It was 
he taught me to swim." He walked to the 
window and looked out. " I thought I was 
going back to India with him. And then 
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the doctors said some rotten rigmarole, and 
my father went without me, and I was all 
right again three months after, and I might 
as well have gone with him, only it was too 
late ; and then things began to happen that 
I never thought could. And nothing will 
ever be right again.' 

"Look here," said Charlotte, ." don't come 
with us this afternoon. You go down to 
Mr. Penfold's. He's the clergyman. He 
said the other day he'd teach Charles to 
swim, so I know he can. If you go directly 
he'll take you down to the river, and you can 
drown dull care in the Med way." 

14 Do you think he'd mind?" 

"Mind? He'd love it," said Charlotte. 
" Just go and say, 4 The three C.'s said I could 
swim, and I can too.' " 

11 You're not a bad sort," said Rupert, 
thumping her on the back as he went out, 
but keeping his face carefully turned away. 
44 I think I will." 

Charlotte and Charles met in the doorway, 
and the meeting was rather violent, for both 
were in a hurry, Charlotte to find out what 
William had said and Charles to tell her. 
I am sorry to say that he had not been 
washing his hands, as indeed their colour 
plainly confessed, but helping William in the 
toilet of the horse, for Caroline had succeeded 
in persuading William that to-day was, for all 
practical purposes, the same as the other day, 
the more readily, perhaps, because Mrs. 
Wilmington had come out and said that she 
didn't think it was at all. And Caro had 
said she thought perhaps they'd better all 
wash and not just Charles. William said 
that he would drive them to Lord Andor's 
lodge gates, because he had to go down to 
the station to meet the master anyhow, and 
it was on the way, or next door to, but they'd 
have to walk back. 

"And we've forgotten to decide what 
flowers to get, and Caro says bring up the 
books so that she can look at them while 
you're washing your hands. Because William 
says he must start in a quarter of an hour." 

Thus Charles ended breathlessly, adding, 
41 Where's Rupert ? " 

44 He's not coming with us. Get down 
4 Pope IV.' and I'll get 'The Language of.' " 
And carrying the books, she went up the 
wide shallow stairs, three at once. 

There was but little time to make a careful 
selection of the flowers most likely to in- 
fluence a youthful peer. 

"To gather the flowers will be but the 
work of a moment," said Caroline. "You 
two go in the carriage and I'll tell William to 

by Google 

drive out by the deserted lodge and pick me 
up at the garden gate." . 

Unfortunately the flowers were not easy to 
find. The gardener had to be consulted, and 
thus the gathering of Lord Andor's presenta- 
tion bouquet was the work of about a quarter 
of an hour, so that William was waiting and 
very cross indeed when Caroline came run? 
ning out of the garden with the flowers, a 
mere bundle, and no bouquet, as Charles 
told her, in her held-up skirt. 

"No time now to drop people at lodge 
gates," he said. "I'll set you down at the 
turning, and even that I didn't ought to do 
by rights, being late as it is, and I shall have 
to fan the horse along something cruel to get 
to the station in time as it is." 

So the splendour of driving up to the 
Castle in the carriage was denied them ; they 
could not even drive to the lodge. And all 
they got, after all Caroline's careful diplomatic 
treatment of William, was, as she said, "just 
a bit of a lift." 

44 It saves time, though," said she, "and 
time's everything when you've got to be home 
by half-past six. I do hope Lord Andor's 
in, don't you ? " 

44 1 don't know," said Charles. " I think 
it would be more noble if we had to sacrifice 
ourselves and go to London to see him. We 
should have to break open our money-boxes. 
I've always wanted to do that. I do wish 
Rupert had been here. He could have made 
up something to say in Latin, and then Lord 
Andor would have had to pay attention." 

44 He'll have to in English," said Caroline, 
quietly, " if he's there. Oh, I do hope he is. 
The mineral woman is most likely crying all 
this time. She only stopped for a minute, 
I'm certain, to sort the bottles because of the 
men coming for them with the cart at three. 
Won't it be glorious going and telling her 
that it's all right and she needn't go?" 

44 But suppose it all isn't and she need?" 
said Charles, gloomily. 

44 The spells have never failed us yet," said 

44 1 believe it's something to do with the 
garden and our being the ancestors of Dame 
Eleanour," said Charlotte. " Of course it'll 
be all right, Charles." 

44 Rupert didn't think so." 

44 Rupert doesn't know as much as we do, 
when it isn't Latin," said Charlotte. " We're 
going to teach Rupert a lot by and by. You 
see if we don't. All right, William, we're 
getting out as fast as we can, aren't we ? " for 
the carriage had stopped and a voice from 
the box was urging them to look slippy. 

Original from 



The carriage rolled away, leaving ihem at 
the corner with the big bouquet which 
Caroline had hastily arranged as they drove 

Lt If we see him, you'll let me tell him, 
won't you?' she said ; (1 because the mineral 
woman told about it to nit" And the others 
agreed, though Charles pointed out that the 
mineral woman only told her because she 
happened to be there. 

So far all had gone well with the project of 
calling on Lord Andor, to tell him about 
his unfortunate tenant and the week- 
ending admirers of her cottage, But 
at Lord Andor*s lodge gate a check 

As the long gate clicked itself 
into place after they had passed 
through it an elderly person in 
a black cap with violet ribbons 
put her head out of the 
lodge window and said :— 

H No, you don't ! ■ 

11 Yes, we do," said 
Charlotte, unguard- 

" No village child- 
ren allowed in," said 
the black and violet 

"We aren't," said 
Charles. And then 
the cap disappeared, 
only to reappear a 
moment later at the 
lodge door on the 
head of a very angry 
old lady with a very 
sharp, long nose t who 
might have been Mrs. 
Wilmington's grand- 

41 Out you go, the 
way you came," she 
said ; " that's the 
order. What do you 
want, anyhow ? " 

( * We've got a bouquet for Lord Andor," 
said Caroline, showing it. 

11 Keep it till the fifteenth," said the woman 
— a silly thing to say, for no bouquet will 
keep a fortnight. " No village people admitted 
till the gala and fete when his lordship comes 
of age* You can come then. Out you go. 
I've no patience," she added And it was 
quite plain that she had not. 

They had to go back. I wish I could con- 
ceal from you that Charles put out his tongue 
at her as he passed. It is a dreadful thing 

Digitized by Google 

to have to relate, and my only comfort is 
that Caroline and Charlotte did not do it 
Charlotte made a face, but Carolina behaved 

When they were out in the road again, 
Caroline said, almost " between her set 
teeth," as heroes do in moments of crisi -, 
** You know that broken paling we passed ? " 
The others instantly understood. They went 
back, found the broken paling, and slipped 
through. It was Caroline's dress that was 
really badly torn. Charlotte's was only 


gathers which you can tuck into your waist- 
band, and it only makes a lump and the 
skirt rather uneven lengths, and it was not 
the fence but a nail that tore Charles's 
stocking so badly. 

The shrubbery in which they found them 
selves was very thorny and under^rowlhy, 
and nearer to the lodge than they would 
have chosen. They could see its while walls 
quite plainly every now and then, and they 
feared that it, or the managing director of it, 
might he able to see them. But it makes all 
Original from 




the difference whether you are looking for a 
thing or not, doesn't it? And certainly the 
last thing the cap woman expected was that 
anyone should dare to defy her. 

So, undiscovered and unsuspected, the 
children crept through the undergrowth. The 
thorns and briars scratched at the blue 
muslins, no longer, anyhow, in their first 
freshness, and Charlotte's white hat was 
snatched from her head by a stout chestnut 
stump. The bouquet, never the handsomest 
of its kind, was not improved by its travels. 
But misfortunes such as these occur to all 
tropical explorers, and they pressed on. 
They were all very warm and rather dirty 
when they emerged from the undergrowth 
into the smooth, spacious park and, beyond n 
a belt of quiet trees, saw the pale, grey towers 
of the Castle rise against the sky. They 
looked back. The lodge was not to be seen. 

" So that s all right," said Caroline. " Now 
we must walk fast, and yet not look as if we 
were hurrying. I think it does that best if 
you take very long steps. I wish we knew 
where the front-door was. It would be awful 
if we went to the back one by mistake and got 
turned back by Lord Andor's myrmidons." 

" 1 expect his back-door is grander than 
our front," said Charlotte, " so we sha'n't 
really know till the myr- what's- its -names 
have gone for us." 

11 If we'd had time to disguise ourselves 
like grown-ups — Char, for goodness' sake 
tear that strip off your hat ; it looks like a 
petticoat's tape that's coming down," said 
Caroline— " they'd have thought we'd come 
to call, with cards, and then they'd have had 
to show us in, unless he wasn't at home." 

" He must be at home," said Charlotte, 
tearing a long streamer from the wretched 
hat, which now looked less like a hat than a 
fading flower that has been sat on ; " it would 
be too much if he wasn't." 

They passed through the trees and on to a 
very yellow gravelled drive, hot and gritty to 
the foot and distressing to the eye. Follow- 
ing this, they came suddenly round a corner 
on the Castle. It was much bigger than 
they expected, and there seemed to be no 
doubt which was the front entrance. Two 
tall, grey towers held a big arched gateway 
between them, and the drive led straight in 
to this. There seemed to be no door-bell 
and no knocker, nor, as far as they could 
see, any door. 

" 1 feel like Jack the Giant-Killer," said 
Charles, "only there isn't a trumpet to 

His voice, though he spoke almost in a 

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whisper, sounded loud and hollow under the 
echoing arch of the gateway. 

Beyond its cool depths was sunshine, with 
grass and pink geraniums overflowing from 
stone vases. A fountain in the middle leapt 
and sank and plashed in a stone basin. 

There was a door at the other side of the 
courtyard — an arched door with steps leading 
up to it. On the steps stood a footman. 

" He's exactly like the one in * Alice,' " said 
Caroline ; " courage and dispatch." 

The footman looked curiously at the three 
children — hot, dusty, and untidy — who 
advanced through the trim parterre. His 
glance dwelt more especially on the battered 
bouquet, on Charlotte's unspeakable hat, and 
the riven stocking of Charles. 

" If you pltase," said Caroline, her heart 
beating heavily, " we want to see Lord Andor." 

"'Slordship's not at heum," said the foot- 
man, looking down upon them. 

"When will he be back?" Charlotte 
asked ; while Caroline suddenly wished that 
they had at least brought their gloves. 

44 Can't say'm sheur," said the footman, 
doing something to his teeth with a pin ; and 
his tone was wondrous like Mrs. Wilmington's. 

" We want very much to see him," said 
Charles. " You see, we've brought him a 

" I see you 'ave — have," said the footman, 
more like Mrs. Wilmington than ever. 
" Would you like to leave it ? It'll be a 
surprise for his lordship when he comes in." 
And the footman tittered. 

" He is here, then," said Caroline. " I 
mean, he's not in London?" 

" His lordship is not in London," said the 
footman. " Any other questions ? Always 
happy to say me catechism, 'm sure." 

The children turned to go. They felt the 
need of a private consultation. 

"Any particular neem ? " said the footman, 
and tittered again. " 'Slordship'll be dying to 
know who it was called." And once more he 

Charlotte turned suddenly and swiftly. 

" You need not trouble about our names," 
she said ; "and I don't believe Lord Andor 
knows how you behave when he's not there. 
He doesn't know jW, that is." 

" No offence, miss," said the footman, very 

" We accept your apology," said Charlotte, 
"and we shall wait till Lord Andor 
comes in." 

" But, I say, look here, you know." The 
footman came down one step in his earnest- 
ness. " You can't wait here, you know." 




"Oh, yes, we can/' said Caroline, sitting 
down on the second step. The others also 
sat down. It was Charles who said, "So 
there ! " and Caroline had to nudge him and 
say (l Hush ! " 

" We never called before at a house where 
they didn't ask you in and give you a chair 
to sit on. But if this is that kind of house," 
said Charlotte, grandly, "it does not matter. 
It is a fine day, luckily." 

" I^ook here," said the footman behind 
them, now thoroughly uneasy, "this won't dr> t 
you know. There's company expected. I 
can't have a lot of ragged children silting on 
the steps like the first of May 

u I'm sorry," said Charlotte, without turn- 
ing her head, " but if you haven't any rooms 
fit to ask us into, I'm afraid you'll have to 
have us sitting here." 

The three sat staring at the bright garden 
and the dancing fountain, 

" Look here," said the foot- 
man, weakly blustering, "this 
is cheek* That's what ilm 
But you go now. Do you 
hear? Or must I make you ? w 

11 We hear," said Caroline, 
speaking as calmly as 
one can speak when 
one is almost choking 
with mingled rage, dis- 
appointment, fear, and 

" And I defy you to 
lay a finger on your 
master's visitors," said 
Charlotte, " How do 
you know who we are ? 
We haven't given you 
our names." 

The footman must 
have felt a sudden doubt. He hesitated a 
moment, and then, muttering something 
about seeing Mr. Check les, he retired, leaving 
the children in possession of the field. And 
there they sat, in a row, on Lord Andor's 
steps, with the bouquet laid carefully on the 
step above them. 

It was very silent there in the grey-walled 

" 1 say," whispered Charles. " Let's go. 
We've got the better of Aim, anyhow. Let's 
do a bunk before he comes back with some- 
one we can't get the better of — thousands of 
stately butlers, perhaps/' 

" Never," said Charlotte, whose hands were 
cold and trembling with excitement But 
Caroline said : — 

" I wish Mr, Checkles might turn out to be 

Vol Jilil. -30 


a gentleman, the everyday kind that we know. 
Lords' servants seem more common than 
other people's, and I expect the lord's some- 
thing like them. They say like master like 

As if in answer to Caroline's wish, a door 
in the wall opened, showing a glimpse of 
more garden beyond, and a jolly-faced youth 
came towards them, Me was a very big 
young man, and his clothes, which were of 
dust coloured Harris tweed, were very loose. 
He looked like a sixth form boy, and Charles 
at once felt that here was a man and a 
brother. So lie got up and went towards the 
new-comer with the simple greeiing:— 

" Halloa ! M 

" Halloa '"(^jrtjtiifl ft^h^ 01 ™ ^oy, with a 
idly .and .cheerful, .^in,,,-, ,,^ „ t , 

friendl ' O^^tePfrWftlCHISAN 



" I say," said Charles, confidentially, as he 
and the big boy met on the grass, " there 
isn't really. any reason why we shouldn't wait 
here if we want to ? " 

"None in the world," said the big boy, 
"if you're sure that what you're waiting for is 
likely to come and that this is the best place 
to wait for it in." 

4< We're waiting for Lord Andor," said 
Caroline, who had picked up the bouquet 
and advanced with it " I'm so glad you've 
come, because we don't understand English 
men - servants. In India they behave 
differently when you call." 

" What have the servants here done ? " the 
youth asked, frowning, with his hands in his 

11 Oh, nothing," said Charles, in a hurry ; 
11 at least, I mean we accepted his apologies, 
so we can't sneak." 

" I wouldn't call it sneaking to tell you" 
said Caroline, confidingly, " because, of 
course, you'd promise on your honour not to 
tell Lord Andor. We don't want to get 
other people's servants into trouble when 
we've accepted their apologies. But the 
footman was rather ..." 

At this moment the footman himself 
appeared at the top of the steps with an 
elderly whiskered man in black, whom the 
children rightly judged to be the butler. The 
two had come hastily out of the door, but 
when they saw the children and their com- 
panion the footman stopped as if — as Charles 
said later — he had been turned to stone, and 
only the butler advanced when the youth in 
the Harris tweed said, rather shortly, " Come 
here, Checkles ! " Checkles came quickly 
enough, and when he was quite close he 
astonished the three C.'s much more than he 
will astonish you by saying, " Yes, m'lord ! " 

" Tea on the terrace at once," said the 
Harris-tweeded one, " and tell them not to be 
all day about it." 

Checkles went, and the footman too. 
Charlotte always believed that the last glance 
he cast at her was not one of defiance, but of 

"So you're him," Charles was saying. 
"How jolly!" 

But to Caroline it seemed that there was 
no time to waste in personalities, however 
flattering. Lord Andor's tea was imminent. 
He was most likely in a hurry for his tea ; it 
was past most people's tea-time already. So 
she suddenly held out the flowers and said, 
" Here's a bouquet. We made it for you. 
Will you please take it ? " 

" That's awfully good of you, you know," 

said Ix>rd Andor ; " thanks no end ! " He 
took the bouquet and smelt it, plunging his 
nose into the midst of the columbine, roses, 
cornflowers, lemon verbena, wistaria, gladiola, 
and straw. 

" It's not a very nice one, I'm afraid," said 
Caroline, "but you can't choose the nicest 
flowers when you have to look them out in 
two books at once. It means, ' Welcome, 
fair stranger. An unexpected meeting. We 
are anxious and trembling. Confidence — no, 
we left that out because we hadn't any. And 
Agieement, because we hope you will." 

" How awfully interesting ! It was kind of 
you," said Lord Andor, and before he could 
say any more Charlotte hastened to say : — 

" You see, it's not just an ordinary nosegay, 
please, and don't thank us, please, because it 
wasn't to please you, but to serve our own 
ends, though, of course, if we'd known how 
nice you are, and if we'd thought you'd care 
about one, we would have in a minute." 

" I see," said Lord Andor, quite as if he 
really had seen. 

41 I'm sure you don't," said Caroline ; 
" don't be polite, please. Say if you don't 
understand. What we want is justice. It's 
one of your tenants that had the cottage in 
your father's time before you, and they're 
turning her out because there are some week- 
endy people think the cottage is so pretty, 
with the flowers she planted and the arbour 
her father made and the roses that came 
from her mother's brother in Cambridgeshire. 
And she said you didn't know. And we 
decided you ought to know. So we made 
you the nosegay and we came. And we 
ought to go, and here's her name and address 
on a bit of paper, and I'm sorry it's only 
pencil. And you will see justice done, won't 

" It's very kind of you," said Lord Andor, 
slowly, " to take such interest in my tenants." 

" There ! " said Charlotte. " Of course, we 
were afraid you'd say that. But we didn't 
mean to shove our oar in. We just went in 
for ginger-beer, and Caro found her crying ; 
and there's a hornbeam arbour, ever so old, 
and a few shillings a week can't make any 
difference to you, with a lovely castle like 
this to live in. And the motto on the tombs 
of your ancestors is ' Fiat Justitia.' And it's 
only bare justice we want ; and we saw the 
tomb on Sunday in church, with the sons 
and daughters in ruffs." 

" Stop ! " said Lord Andor. " I am only 
a poor, weak chap. I need my tea. Come 
and have some too, and I'll try to make out 
what it's all about." 




"Thanks awfully," said the three G's, 
speaking all together. And Caroline added, 
" We mustn't be long over tea, please, 
because we've got to get home by half-past 
six, and it must be nearly that now." 

"You shall get back at half-past six all 
right," said Lord Andor, and led the way — a 
huge figure in the dust-coloured clothes — 
through the little door by which they had 
come, on to a pleasant stone terrace with 
roses growing all over and in and out and 
round about its fat old balustrades. 

" Here's tea," he said. And there it was, 
set on a fair-sized table with a white cloth — 
a tea worth waiting for. Honey and jam and 
all sorts of cakes, and peaches and straw- 
berries. The footman was hovering about, 
but Charles was the only one who seemed to 
see him. It was bliss to Charles to see this 
proud enemy humbly bearing an urn and 
lighting a spirit-lamp to make the tea of 
those whom he had tried to drive fr6m even 
the lowly hospitality of Lord Andor's door- 

" Come on," said the big, sixth-form-looking 
boy who was Lord Andor; "you must be 
starved. Cake first (and bread and butter 
afterwards, if you insist upon it) is the rule 
here. Milk and sugar ? " 

They all drank tea much too strong for 
them, out of respect to their host, who had 
forgotten that when he was a little boy milk 
was what one had at tea-time. 

And slowly, by careful questioning, and by 
making a sudden rule that no one was to say 
more than thirty-seven words without stopping, 
Lord Andor got at the whole story in a form 
which he could understand. 

" I see" he would say, and " / see," and 
then ask another question. 

And at last, when tea was really over, to 
the last gladly-accepted peach and the last 
sadly-unaccepted strawberry, he stood up and 
said : — 

" If you don't mind my saying so, I think 
you are regular little bricks to have taken 
all this trouble. And I am really and truly 
very much obliged. Because I do mean to 
be just and right to my tenants, only it's very 
difficult to know about things if nobody tells 
you. And you've helped me a lot, and I 
thank you very much." 

" Then you will ? " said Charlotte, breath- 

" Not let her be turned out of her cottage, 
she means?" Caroline explained. 

"She means the mineral woman," said 

" Of course I won't," said Lord Andor ; 

" I mean, of course, I will. I mean it's all 
right. And I'll drive you home, and if you're 
a minute or two late, I'll make it all right 
with uncle." 

The motor was waiting outside the great 
arch that is held between the two great towers 
of Andor Castle. It was a dream of a car, 
and there was room for the three C.'s in the 
front beside the driver, who was Lord Andor 

The footman was there, and the proudest 
moment of the day, for Charles, was that in 
which Lord Andor gave the petition-bouquet 
into that footman's care, and told him to see 
that it was put in water, "Carefully, mind; 
and tell them to put it on the dinner-table 

The footman said, "Yes, m'lord," as though 
he had never seen the bouquet before. 
Charlotte's proudest moment was when the 
woman at the lodge gate had to curtsy when 
the motor passed out. 

Rupert was waiting for them at their own 
lodge gate, and when he saw the motor his 
eyes grew quite round like pennies. Yet, 
even after that, Rupert only said : — 

"It's chance, I tell you. It's just acci- 
dental. Co — what's its name — incidence. 
It would all have happened just the same if 
you hadn't taken that hideous old mixed 
assorted haystack with you." 

" Still disagreeable ? " said Charlotte, 

" Oh, been all the same, would it ? " said 
Charles. " That's all you know." 

" It's not all I know," said Rupert. " As 
it happens, I know heaps of things that you 
don't, and I could find out more if I wanted 
to. So there ! " 

" Oh, Rupert, don't be cross," said Caro- 
line, "just when we're all so happy. I do 
wish you'd been there, especially at tea-time." 

"I'm not cross," said Rupert. "As it 
happens, I was feeling extra jolly until you 
came home." 

"Oh, don't!" said Caroline. " Do let's 
call it Pax. We haven't told you half the 
little interesting things that happened yet. 
And if you can't believe in the magic, It's 
your misfortune. We know you can't help 
it. We know you don't unbelieve on pur- 
pose. We know we're right, and you think 
you know you are." 

" It's the other way round," said Rupert, 
still deep in gloom. 

" I know it is when jyw think it ; and when 
we think it it's the other way," said Caroline. 
" Oh, Pax ! Pax ! Pax I " 

" All right," said Rupert. " I had a good 




swim. Your Mr, Penfold's not half a bad 
sort. He taught me a new side-stroke." But 
it was plain lhat Rupert's inside self still felt 
cloudy and (ar from comfortable* 

Next day the three C.'s and Rupert, in 
middle of Irish stew, 
were surprised by 
the sudden rustling 
entrance of Mrs* 

"A person wishes 
to see you," she said 
to Caroline; "quite 
a poor person, I 
asked her to wait till 



dinner was completed, but she says that she 
hopes you will see her now, as she ought to 
commence going home almost at once," 

"Of course," said Caroline; " it must be 
the mineral woman," 

44 She seemed to me," said Mrs, Wilming- 
ton, " to have an animal face." 

But Caroline was already in the hall, and 
the figure that rose politely from the oak chair 
was plainly — though disguised in her Sunday 
clothes — that of the mineral woman. 

"Oh, miss!" she said. "Oh, miss!" 
She took hold of both Caroline's hands and 
shookthem; but that was not enough. Caroline 
found herself kissed on both cheeks, and then 
suddenly hugged, and "Oh, miss!" the 
mineral woman said; "Oh, miss!" And 
then she felt for her handkerchief in a 
black bag she carried and blew her nose 

Mrs. Wilmington had gone through the 
hall very slowly indeed, but even she 
could not go slowly enough not to be 
gone by the time the mineral woman had, 
for the time being, finished with her nose. 
And as Mrs. Wilmington went through 
the baize door she heard again: — 

" Oh, miss ! w 
Mrs. Wilmington 
came back five 
minutes later, and 
this time she 
heard : — 

"And it's all 
right, miss ; and 
two bright new five- 
pound notes ' to 
buy more rose 
trees with/ and a 
letter in his own 
write of hand 
thanking us for 
making the place 
so pretty, and I'm 
to be tenant for 
life, miss. And 
it's all your doing, 
bless your kind 
heart. So I 
came to tell you, 
I never thought I 
should feel like 
I do about 
any strange little 
doing, miss, my 

It was all your 


Which was a very mysterious and exciting 
thing to be overheard by any housekeeper 
who was not in the secret. And a very heart- 
warming and pleasant thing to be listened to 
by a little girl who was. 

11 You see," said Caroline, when she 
had told the others of the mineral 
woman's happiness, "the magic always 


To ht continued.) 

Original from 

A Page of Picture Puzzles. 


"The bulrush in /he poo/. 


__ j^-k^-i 

Ttte itvo iwfrushes A and B are three feer apart 
as tfhei/ stand in /he wafer and fh&r ftps A and Care 
/tre f ee f a par/. The M ruth forced be/ fhe wnd 
is submerged (**r#xx/f bema benf) ft'// /fs fa j&sf 
sh&rs on $ie surface, a/ a atifance egtfaf & Artie 
thaf of '/If Gr*?fn&/ het#ftf &£&re fhe surface 

fVhaf /s /he atpfh of fhe tfdfer p 

Ji man goes oaf be/wee ft 4 and J ti'cbck 
and an reh/m/nq about 3 hoars after finds 
/ha/ /he hands hare exacffi/ changed pieces 

Jf what time did he qo ouf? 

The far/her Eos! 

/he t nearer Hesf. 

7b E/ms - — 
3 rtvfeJ. 

Jia/ors s&rt af Ka.mjtvmjhe SW&w 
sMhru "8offm\ "£fms" and r "Bridges'* Jr^oj^ 

and run fa and fmm "The Oock of a uniform ^"ev-. s - 
speed of 6 m/fes an hom ftncfudinq infermedmfe 
sfapptnqs) buf m/h a war/ of J m/ha/es a/ G&ch af 
The 4 shps named. t The ConduC/or of The "Bo/Ton car 
has & aef b "f/ms" in/ exchanging dvf/es m/n /he 
other Conductors* 

When can he arrive af "ffms'r 

"Bull Run. 

These aged bulls are fefhered fo fhe frees which are JO qards aparf 
Each fefher measures 2 J uards offer sfraininq . Hooks are driven m me 
frees af fhe nearesf pofnfs, and fhe /efhers fastened fo fhem are earned 
round fhe frees, and passed trough sfapfes af fhe 3-^uarfer g/rfh : 
The ofher ends of fhe fefhers are affached fo fhe buiis riose-nnqs. 
Theairfh of each free is 22 inches. The Qtrner said fhe huffs coufd 
nof reach each ofher, i/ef fheq offen sfood s/de hi/ side in fhe direcf/on 

tfotr cfoseftfCQufd /he Mfs bring ^ek^ ^.p^erF 




[We shall be glad to receive Contributions t& this section , and to pay for such as are accepted*] 

irrigable under this Yuma project. — Mr. Allan Dunn, 
3,004, Hyde Street, San Francisco, California. 


I HAVE had these two little wood- chucks ever since 
they had their eyes open, and when they were too 
young to eat food of any kind I had to feed them from 
a bottle like a baby. Some people do not believe that 
wood- chucks — or ground -ho^, to give them the name 
by which they are better known — come out to see their 
shadow on Candlemas Day. They are inclined to 
scoff at the idea, but my experience with these an in mis 
has proved it to be true. They went to steep during 
the latter part of October, since when I have watched 
them very closely to see if they woke up, but never 
found them awake. I took them out of the nest and 
they appeared to be dead, except for a slight movement 
of their heads and the beating of their hearts. On 
February 2nd I went to look at them in the afternoon, 
and found them awake, playing in their cage and very 
happy. They slaved out for three days and ate a 
considerable quantity of food, and they then went back 
to sleep and have slept ever since. — Mr. E + B. Cleminger, 
Frozel Minn., I'.S,A. 


THE erection of the Pilot Knob Hotel at Yuma 
Arizona, was prompted 
by the opening of the Yuma 
Irrigation Project, one of the 
big irrigation plans started by 
ex - President Roosevelt, under 
which thousands of acres of desert 
laud are made to ** blossom as 
the rose." The place, as the small 
sign states, is 3,127 miles west of 
Broadway, New York — a mere 
nothing in this country of mag- 
nificent distances. The legend, 
11 Free Board Every Day the 
Sun Doesn't Shine," is an up- 
to-date variety of the " Pay 
To-day, Credit To - morrow " 
signs that occasionally appear 
in England, and in Arizona 
trie landlord is taking no chances 
on his ofler* It may be added 
that 90,000 acre- are to be made 


THE fire -screen here shown is composed of 206 
farthings (King Edward VII.), which were 
dipped bright and lacquered, the centre coin being a 
penny silver-plated. The design is mounted on a 
copper-gauze background, which is bronzed and partly 
rubbed oil to give an untiquc finish ; while the frame 
is made of wrought -iron and finished dull black. Over- 
all dimensions are: Height* -ft. ioin. ; width, 2ft.; 
the panel be i nt: 2-ft. by t8in. — Mr. Thos. 1$. linker, 
6 t l"pj)er Baker Street, Llovd Souure, Loudon, W.C. 





AN inscription cut on the stone which forms the 
seat of this fine old chair testifies to its having 
been made entirely from wood and stone taken in 1^32 
from the foundation of old London Bridge, after having 
remained there for six hundred and fifty -six years, 
The inscription reads : "I am part of the first stone 
that was put down Jot the foundation of Old London 
Bridge in June J176 by a priest named Peter, who was 
Vicar of Colchtirch in London, and I remained there 
undisturbed safe on (he same Oak piles this chair is 
made from, till the Reverend William John Jo Hi fie 
Curate of Colniar Hampshire took me up in July 1832 
when clearing away the Old bridge after New London 
Bridge was completed." It will be noticed that 
models of several of London's bridges have been in- 
coq>orated in the design of the chair, which is the 
property of the Worshipful Company of Fishmongers, 
—Mr. T* Sturdee, 157, Mai pas Road, Brock ley* 


GET a silver dessert-spoon and put it at right angles 
in front of you on a table* Next get a gold 
ring, a wedding-ring preferred, and to it tie a piece of 
thread about fifteen inches long* Twist the other end 
of the cotton round your fore ringer two or three times 
and bring it over the point of the thumb, with the nail 
down. Rest your elbow on the table and susjwnd the 
ring about an eighth of an inch above the centre of the 

handle of the spoon , keeping the hand as steady as 
possible. If you are a man the ring will oscillate up 
and down the spoon. Next put your free hand on the 
table and ask a woman to lay her hand on yours* 
Watch the ring carefully, and you will n at ice that it 
will gradually cease to swing along the spoon* but will 
commence to swing across it* If a woman holds the 
thread it is vice versa. I have known of only one case 
in which the experiment has failed. Can this be 
explained ?— Mr, YV. Greene* Ivy bank, Monkstown, 
Co. Cork. 


'T^HESE six volumes all contain an equal n umber 
X of pages. The sum of the numbers on the hrst 
and last pages of t lie whole six volumes is 9*222. How 
many pages are there in each volume ? — Mr. Harold M* 
Haskell, 67, Apple ton Street, Manchester, New Hamp- 
shire, U-S*A, 


THE photograph I send you shows a white linen hat 
lying upside down on the grass with white gloves 
filling the crown* Arranged on the gloves and under- 
side of the brim are between fifty and sixty spiders, 
which were taken from the nest of a mason wasp. The 
wasps build strange little nests of two or three rooms, 
made of tiny pieces of clay carried in and fitted together 
by the insect herself. In each *' room " she lays an 
egg, which she packs carefully round with spiders, 
brought in one at a time and slung into insensibility — 
they seem almost like drugged spiders. When the 
room is packed closely it is tightly sealed up with more 
clay and left. The spiders neither wake again nor 
die ; but when the e^g is hatched there is living, but 
unresisting, foot! for the grub of the wasp to start feed- 
ing on straightaway. The spiders in the photograph 
were found in a *' three -roomed " nest, not more than 
three inches long, built in a crack between two boards 
at the side of an old boat landing. We had fastened 
our boat and were lunching among the beautiful bush 
and ferns for which the west coast of the South Island 
of New Zealand is famous. — Miss M, Hitchcock, care of 
National Hank 0fQ^igjfieji^f|^rfl7 f Moorgate Street, 

London ' Diversity of Michigan 



r I " H E RE are few famous shirts in the world, but one 
X of the number lorms the subject of the accom- 
panying photograph. Lock at it ! It only measures 
eight by eight inches, and when folded up does not even 
fill the tiny box ^m in the photograph, in which it is 
always kept. But a more famous shirt it would be hard 
to find. It is a christening shirt, and two and a half 
centuries have passed since jt was made in Flanders of 
the best luce and linen then obtainable, to the order of 
an English admiral. It reposes in its tiny box at sunny 
Worthing, in the home of the inventor of a well-known 
dog-biscuit. Some thousand children had been 
christened in the wee garment even several years ago* 
Think of it ! A thousand children and more have worn 
It at their baptism, and among the number have been 
several who have grown up to be famous as soldiers, 
sailors, authors, travellers, and scholars, So it is not 
to be wondered at that the little shirt has come to be 
looked upon as a " lucky " shirt and a talisman against 
all ill Mothers send for it from distant lands , to which 
fate has taken them, believing that if their children are 
christened in it good fortune will smile upon them all 
their lives. It has passed safely through several 
battles on the sea, including the Battle of Trafalgar. 
It went down with the ill-fated Royal George r the log- 
book of which vessel may be seen in the same house at 
Worthing in which the shirt rests. Years later it was 
wrecked on the Goodwin Sands in a small passenger 
boat, and after being lost for several weeks was picked 
up on the seashore at Deal and in course of time re- 
stored to its owner, whose address happened to be on 
an envelope inside the box. It was once wrecked off 
the coast of France and once again found on the sea- 
shore, but this lime inside a large trunk* In a house 
at S treat ham it had the distinction of passing .safely 
through a fire which completely gutted the building 

with the exception of one room — the room in which 
the shirt was put away. On three occasions it has been 
found in the J )ead- Letter Department of the General 
Post Oftice, and been lost in the streets ol provincial 
towns on no fewer than twenty -one occasions* — Mr, 
I- C* liris tow -Noble, Rook wood, Warn ham^ Horsham, 


THIS very curious epitaph may be seen on a grave* 
stone in Frestbury Churchyard. The inscription 
reads : *' Also Sarah Pickford, sister to the above-said 
Tames Pickford, was here interred August I7 t Anno 
Dom* 1705- And died a Bachelour in the 48 yeare 
of her age/* It will be noticed that the letter *' t ** is 
frequently used instead of the letter '* s," I think this 
is the only gravestone which tells of a woman dying a 
* k bachelour. " — Mr. Thomas Cooper, Chapel House, 
Prestbury, Macclesfield, Cheshire* 



I AM sending you three photographs * taken at inter- 
vals of about forty minutes, of a sundew leaf 
{Dr&sera rotundi folia) , near to which I had suspended 
a tiny fragment of meat, using a hair attached to a 
needle. The photographs show clearly how the lea.f 
bent over and captured the meat* The puzzle is : 
How did the leaf know that the meat was within its 
reach ? One is driven to the conclusion that plants 
are more M sensible " than is g en era ] 1 y su | jposcd * — Mr* 
Alfred H. Bastin, Wens ley , (Tppcr Red lands Road, 


Original frJm 

(""rw^nL'' Original from 


i x 



Original from 




The Joyous Adventures 
or Aristiae Pujol. 



Illustrated by Alec Ball 

-The Adventure of Fleurette, 

NE day, when Aristide was 
discoursing on the inexhaus- 
tible subject of woman j I 
palled him up. 

1 My good friend/' said I, 

u you seem to have fallen in 

love with every woman you 

have ever met. But for how many of them 

have you really cared ? " 

" Man Dieu ! For all of them ! " he cried, 
springing from his chair and making a wind- 
mill of himself. 

" Come, come," said I ; "all that amorous- 
ness is just Gallic exuberance. Have you 
ever been really in love in your life ? " 

" How should I know ? " said he. But he 
lit a cigarette, turned away, and looked out 
of window. 

There was a short silence. He shrugged 
his shoulders, apparently in response to his 
own thoughts. Then he turned again sud- 
denly j threw his cigarette into the fire, and 

Vfft «]ii,— 31 Copyright, 1911, by W. J, Locke ( 

thrust his hands into his pockets. He 

11 Perhaps there was Fleurette," said he, 
not looking at me, " Est-ce qtfan sail 
jamais ? That wasn't her real name — it was 
Marie-Josephine ; but people called her 
Fleurcttc. She looked like a flower, you 

I nodded in order to signify my elementary 
acquaintance with the French tongue. 

' The most delicate little flower you can 
conceive," he continued, " Tims, she was a 
tired lily — so while, and her hair the flash of 
gold on it — and she had eyes — des yeux de 
pertfenche, as we say in French. What is 
pervenche in English — that little pale- blue 
flower ? " 

" Periwinkle/' said L 

" Periwinkle eyes ! Man Dieu, what a 
language ! Ah, no ! She had des yeux de 
pervenche.p. ■■ ■. She_was diaphane, diaphin- 
us . . . impalpable as cigarette-smoke , P , 
tbc UtJJ^HiGW XJiFcMlHI'.jAN 




a little nose like nothing at all, with nostrils 
like infinitesimal sea-shells. Anyone could 
have made a mouthful of her. ... Ah ! 
Cri nom d'un chien t Life is droll. It has no 
common sense. It is the game of a mounte- 
bank. . . . I've never told you about 
Fleurette. It was this way." 

And the story he narrated I will do my 
best now to set down. 

The good M. Bocardon, of the Hotel de la 
Curatterie at Nimes, whose grateful devotion 
to Aristide has already been recorded in these 
chronicles, had a brother in Paris who 
managed the Hotel du Soleil et de TEcosse 
(strange conjuncture), a flourishing third-rate 
hostelry in the neighbourhood of the Halles 
Centrales. Thither flocked sturdy Britons 
in knickerbockers, stockings, and cloth caps, 
Teutons with tin botanizing boxes (for lunch 
transportation), and American school-marms 
realizing at last the dream of their modest 
and laborious lives. Accommodation was 
cheap, manners were easy, and knowledge of 
the gay city less than rudimentary. 

To M. Bocardon of Paris Aristide, one 
August morning, brought glowing letters of 
introduction from M. and Mme. Bocardon of 
Nimes. M. Bocardon of Paris welcomed 
Aristide as a Provencal and a brother. He 
brought out from a cupboard in his private 
bureau an hospitable bottle of old Armagnac, 
and discoursed with Aristide on the seductions 
of the South. It was there that he longed to 
retire — to a dainty little hotel of his own 
with a smart clientele. The clientele of the 
Hotel du Soleil et de TEcosse was not to his 
taste. He spoke slightingly of his guests. 

" There are people who know how to 
travel," said he, " and people who don't. 
These lost muttons here don't, and they make 
hotel-keeping a nightmare instead of a joy. 
A hundred times a day have I to tell them 
the way to Notre Dame. Pouah 1 " said he, 
gulping down his disgust and the rest of his 
Armagnac, " it is back-breaking." 

" Tu sais, tnon vieux" cried Aristide — he 
had the most lightning way of establishing 
an intimacy — " I have an idea. These lost 
sheep need a shepherd." 

" Eh bien ? " said M. Bocardon. 

" Eh Men" said Aristide. " Why should 
not I be the shepherd, the official shepherd 
attached to the Hotel du Soleil et de 
I'Ecosse ? " 

" Explain yourself," said M. Bocardon. 

Aristide, letting loose his swift imagination, 
explained copiously, and hypnotized M. 
Bocardon with his glittering eye, until he had 

assured to himself a means of livelihood. 
From that moment he became the familiar 
genius of the hotel. Scorning the title of 
" guide," lest he should be associated in the 
minds of the guests with the squalid scoun- 
drel who infest the Boulevard, he consti- 
tuted himself " Directeur de FAgence Pujol." 
An obfuscated Bocardon formed the rest of 
the agency and pocketed a percentage of 
Aristide's earnings, and Aristide, addressed 
as " Director " by the Anglo-Saxons, " M. le 
Directeur " by the Latins, and " Herr 
Direktor " by the Teutons, walked about like 
a peacock in a barn-yard. 

At that period, and until he had learned 
up Baedeker by heart, a process which nearly 
gave him brain-fever, and still, he declares, 
brings terror into his slumbers, he knew little 
more of the history, topography, and art- 
treasures of Paris than the flock he shep- 
herded. He must have dealt out paralyzing 
information. The Britons and the Germans 
seemed not to heed ; but now and then the 
American school-marms unmasked the char- 
latan. On such occasions his unfaltering 
impudence reached heights truly sublime. 
The sharp-witted ladies looked in his eyes, 
forgot their wrongs, and, if he had told them 
that the Eiffel Tower had been erected by 
the Pilgrim Fathers, would have accepted the 
statement meekly. 

" My friend," said Aristide, with Provencal 
flourish and braggadocio, " I never met a 
woman that would not sooner be misled by 
me than be taught by the whole Faculty of 
the Soi bonne." 

He had been practising this honourable 
profession for about a month, lodging with 
the good Mme. Bidoux at 2i3bis, Rue Saint- 
Honore, when, one morning, in the. vestibule 
of the hotel, he ran into his old friend Batterby, 
whom he had known during the days of his 
professorship of French at the Academy for 
Young Ladies in Manchester. The pair had 
been fellow-lodgers in the same house in the 
Rusholme Road ; but, whereas Aristide lived 
in one sunless bed-sitting-room looking on a 
forest of chimney-pots, Batterby, man of 
luxury and ease, had a suite of apartments 
on the first floor and kept an inexhaustible 
supply of whisky, cigars, and such - like 
etceteras of the opulent, and the very ugliest 
prize bull-pup you can imagine. Batterby, 
in gaudy raiment, went to an o?ice in Man- 
chester ; in gaudier raiment he often attended 
race meetings. He had rings and scarf-pins 
and rattled gold in his trousers pockets. He 
might have been an insufferable young man 
for a Doveriy -.stricken teacher of French to 




have as a fellow -lodger ; but he was not. Like 
all those born to high estate, he made no 
vulgar parade of his wealth, and to Aristide 
he showed the most affable hospitality. A 
friendship had arisen between them, which 
the years had idealized rather than impaired. 
So when they met that morning in the vesti- 
bule of the Hotel du Soleil et de PEcosse their 
greetings were fervent and prolonged. 

In person Batterby tended towards burli- 

" What's that muck ? " asked Batterby, 
when the waiter brought the drinks. Aristide 
explained. " Whisky's good enough for me," 
laughed the ©then Aristide laughed too, 
out of politeness and out of joy at meeting 
his old friend. 

" With you playing at guide here," said 
Batterby, when he had learned Aristide's 
position in the hotel, '* it seems I have come 
to the right shop. There are no flies on me, 

ness. He had a red, jolly face, divided un- 
equally by a great black moustache, and his 
manner was hearty. He slapped Aristide 
on the back many times and shook him by 
the shoulders. " We must have a drink on 
this straight away, old man/* said he, 

" You're so strange, you English," said 
Aristide. " The moment you have an emo- 
tion you must celebrate it by a drink. * My 
dear fellow, I've just come into a fortune ; let 
us have a drink. 5 Or, c My friend, my poor 
old father has just been run over by an omni- 
bus ; let us have a drink/ My good Reginald , 
look at the clock. It is only nine in the 

M Rot ! " said Reginald. M Drink is good 
at any time." 

They went into the dark and deserted 
smoking-room , where Batterby ordered Scotch 
and soda and Aristide , an abstemious man, 
a vermouth sef. 


you know, but when a man comes to Paris 
for the first time he likes to be put up to the 

" Your first visit to Paris ? " cried Aristide. 
" Men vieux, what wonders are going to 
ravish your eyes ! What a time you are 
going to have 1 " 

Batterby bit off the end of a great black 

"If the missus will let me," said he. 

Ci Missus ? Your wife ? You are married 
my dear Reginald ? " Aristide leaped, in 
his unexpected fashion, from his chair and 
almost embraced him, " Ah, but you are 
happy, you are lucky. It was always like 
that. You open your mouth and the larks 
fall ready roasted into it ! My congratula- 
tions. And she is here, in this hotel, your 
wife ? Tell me about her." 

Batterby lit his cigar, " She's nothing to 
write home about/ 5 he said, modesilv, 
" She's French " 

" French ? No — you don't say so ! w ex- 

claimed Aristide, in testes v. 

" ^Mfefrf hnm\m France from 



her childhood, but her parents were Finns. 
Funny place for people to come from — Fin- 
land — isn't it ? You could never expect 
it — might just as well think of 'em coming 
from Lapland. She's an orphan. I met her 
in London." 

" But that's romantic ! And she is young, 
pretty ? " 

" Oh, yes ; in a way," said the proprietary 

" And her name ? " 

" Oh, she has a fool name — Fleurette. 
I wanted to call her Flossie, but she didn't 
like it." 

" I should think not," said Aristide. 
" Fleurette is an adorable name." 

" I suppose it's right enough," said Bat- 
terby. " But if I want to call her good old 
Flossie, why should she object ? You mar- 
ried, old man ? No ? Well, wait till you 
are. You think women are angels all wrapped 
up in feathers and wings beneath their toggery, 
don't you ? Well, they're just blooming 
porcupines, all bristling with objections." 

" Mais, allons, done 1 " cried Aristide. 
" You love her, your beautiful Finnish orphan 
brought up in France and romantically met 
in London, with the adorable name ? " 

" Oh, that's all right," said the easy 
Batterby, lifting his half-emptied glass. 
" Here's luck ! " 

" Ah — no ! " said Aristide, leaning forward 
and clinking his wineglass against the other's 
tumbler. " Here is to madame." 

When they returned to the vestibule they 
found Mrs. Batterby patienUy awaiting her 
lord. She rose from her seat at the approach 
of the two men, a fragile flower of a girl, about 
three-and-twenty, pale as a lily, with ex- 
quisite though rather large features, and with 
eyes of the blue of the pervenche (in deference 
to Aristide I use the French name), which 
seemed to smile trustfully through perpetual 
tears. She was dressed in pale, shadowy blue 
— graceful, impalpable, just like the smoke, 
said Aristide, curling upwards from a cigarette. 

" Reggie has spoken of you many times, 
monsieur," said Fleurette, after the intro- 
duction had been effected. 

Aristide was touched. "' Fancy him re- 
membering me ! Ce bon vieux Reginald. 
Madame," said he, " your husband is the 
best fellow in the world." 

" Feed him with sugar and he won't bite," 
said Batterby ; whereat they all laughed, as 
if it had been a very good joke. 

" Well, what about this Paris of yours ? " 
he said, after a while. " The missus knows 
as little of it as I do." 

" Really ? " asked Aristide. 

" I lived all my life in Brest before I went 
to England," she said, modestly. 

" She wants to see all the sights, the 
Louvre, the Morgue, the Cathedral of What's- 
its-name that you've got here. I've got to 
go round, too. Pleases her and don't hurt 
me. You must tote us about. We'll have a 
cab, old girl, as you can't do much walking, 
and good old Pujol will come with us." 

" But that is ideal ! " cried Aristide, flying 
to the door to order the cab ; but before he 
could reach it he was stopped by three or four 
waiting tourists, who pointed some to the 
clock, some to the wagonette standingoutside, 
and asked the director when the personally- 
conducted party was to start. Aristide, who 
had totally forgotten the responsibilities 
attached to the directorship of the Agence 
Pujol and, but for this reminder, would have 
blissfully left his sheep to err and stray over 
Paris by themselves, returned crestfallen 
to his friends and explained the situation. 

" But we'll join the party," said the cheery 
Batterby. " The more the merrier — good 
old beanfeast ! Will there be room ? " 

" Plenty," replied Aristide, brightening. 
" But would it meet the wishes of madame ? " 

Her pale face flushed ever so slightly and 
the soft eyes fluttered at him a half-astonished, 
half-grateful glance. 

" With my husband and you, monsieur, I 
should love it," she said. 

So Mr. and Mrs. Batterby joined the 
personally-conducted party, as they did the 
next morning, and the next, and several 
mornings after, and received esoteric infor- 
mation concerning the monuments of Paris 
that is hidden even from the erudite. The 
evenings, however, Aristide, being off duty, 
devoted to their especial entertainment. He 
took them to riotous and perspiring res- 
taurants where they dined gorgeously for 
three francs fifty, wine included ; to open-air 
cajis-concerts in the Champs Elysees, which 
Fleurette found infinitely diverting, but 
which bored Batterby, who knew not French, 
to stertorous slumber ; to crowded bras- 
series on the Boulevard, where Batterby 
awakened, under a steady flow of whisky, to 
appreciative contemplation of Paris life. As 
in the old days of the Rusholme Road, 
Batterby flung his money about with unosten- 
tatious generosity. He was out for a beano, 
he declared, and hang the expense ! Aris- 
tide, whose purse, scantily filled (truth to say) 
by the profits of the Agence Pujol, could con- 
tribute but modestly to this reckless expen- 
diture, found himself torced to accept his 




friend's lavish hospitality. Once or twice, 
delicately, he suggested withdrawal from the 
evening's dissipation. 

44 But, my good M. Pujol," said Fleurette, 
with childish tragicality in her pervenche eyes, 
" without you we shall be lost. We shall not 
enjoy ourselves at all, at all." 

So Aristide, out of love for his friend, and 
out of he knew not what for his friend's wife, 
continued to show them the sights of Paris. 
They went to the cabarets of Montmartre — 
the Ciel, where one is served by angels ; the 
Enfer, where one is served by red devils in a 
Tartarean lighting ; the Neant, where one has 
coffins for tables — than all of which vulgarity 
has imagined no more joy-killing dreariness, 
but which caused Fleurette to grip Aristide's 
hand tight in scared wonderment and Bat- 
terby to chuckle exceedingly. They went to 
the Bal Bullier and various other balls 
undreamed of by the tourist, where Fleurette 
danced with Aristide, as light as an autumn 
leaf tossed by the wind, and Batterby ab- 
sorbed a startling assortment of alcohols. In 
a word, Aristide procured for his friends 
prodigious diversion. 

" How do you like this, old girl ? " Bat- 
terby asked one night, at the Moulin de la 
Galette, a dizzying, not very decorous, and 
to the unsophisticated visitor a dangerous 
place of entertainment. " Better than Great 
Coram Street, isn't it ? " 

She smiled and laid her hand on his. She 
was a woman of few words but of infinite 
caressing actions. 

" I ought to let you into a secret, Aristide. 
This is our honeymoon." 

" Who would have thought it ? " said he. 

" A fortnight ago she was being killed in a 
Bloomsbury boarding-house. There were two 
of 'em — she and a girl called Carrie. I 
used to call 'em Fetch and Carrie. This one 
was Fetch. Well, she fetched me, didn't you, 
old girl ? And now you're Mrs. Reginald 
Batterby, living at your ease, eh ? " 

44 Madame would grace any sphere," said 

" I wish I had more education," said 
Fleurette, humbly. " M. Pujol and yourself 
are so clever that you must laugh at me." 

14 We do sometimes, but you mustn't mind 
us. Remember — at the what-you-call-it — 
the little shanty at Versailles ? " 

44 The Grand Trianon," said Aristide. 

44 That's it. When you were showing us 
the rooms. 4 What is the Empress Josephine 
doing now ? ' " He mimicked her accent. 
44 Ha ! ha ! And the poor soul gone to glory 
& couple of hundred years ago." 

The little mouth puckered at the corners 
and moisture gathered in the blue eyes. 

44 Mais, mon Dieu, it was natural, the 
mistake," cried Aristide, gallantly. 44 The 
Empress Eugenie, the wife of another 
Napoleon, is still living." 

44 Bien stir" said Fleurette. 44 How was 
I to know ? " 

44 Never mind, old girl," said Batterby. 
44 You're living all right, and out of that 
beastly boarding-house, and that's the chief 
thing. Another month of it would have 
killed her. She had a cough that shook her 
to bits. She's looking better already, isn't 
she, Pujol ? " 

After this Aristide learned much of her 
simple history, which she, at first, had been 
too shy to reveal. The child of Finnish sea- 
folk who had drifted to Brest and died there, 
she had been adopted by an old Breton 
sea-dog and his wife. On their death she 
had entered, as maid, the service of an English 
lady residing in the town, who afterwards had 
taken her to England. After a while reverses 
of fortune had compelled the lady to dismiss 
her, and she had taken the situation in the 
boarding-house, where she had ruined her 
health and met the opulent and conquering 
Batterby. She had not much chance, poor 
child, of acquiring a profound knowledge of 
the history of the First Empire; but her 
manners were refined and her ways gentle 
and her voice was soft ; and Aristide, citizen 
of the world, for whom caste distinctions 
existed not, thought her the most exquisite 
flower grown in earth's garden. He told her 
so, much to her blushing satisfaction. 

One night, about three weeks after the 
Batterbys' arrival in Paris, Batterby sent his 
wife to bed and invited Aristide to accompany 
him for half an hour to a neighbouring caji. 
He looked grave and troubled. 

44 I've been upset by a telegram/' said he, 
when drinks had been ordered. 4t I'm called 
away to New York on business. I must 
catch the boat from Cherbourg to-morrow 
evening. Now, I can't take Fleurette with 
me. Women and business don't mix. She 
has jolly well got to stay here. I sha'n't be 
away more than a month. I'll leave her plenty 
of money to go on with. But what's worrying 
me is — how is she going to stick it ? So look 
here, old man, you're my pal, aren't you ? " 

He stretched out his hand. Aristide 
grasped it impulsively. 

44 Why, of course, mon vieux I " 

44 If I felt that I could leave her in your 
charge, all on the square, as a real straight 
pal-I should go aw^ m £ N 



" She shall be my sister," cried Aristide, 
" and I shall give her all the devotion of a 
brother. ... I swear it — tiens — what can I 
swear it on ? " He flung out his arms and 
looked round the cafi as if in search of an 
object. " I swear it on the head of my 
mother. Have no fear. I, Aristide Pujol, 
have never betrayed the sacred obligations 
of friendship. I accept her as a consecrated 

" You only need to have said ' Right-o,' 
and I would have believed you," said Batterby. 
" I haven't told her yet. There'll be blubber- 
ing all night. Let us have another drink." 

When Aristide arrived at the Hotel du 
Soleil et de l'Ecosse at nine o'clock the next 
moi.iing he found that Batterby had left 
Paris by the early train. Fleurette he did 
not meet until he brought back the sight- 
seers to the fold in the evening. She had 
wept much during the day ; but she smiled 
bravely on Aristide. A woman could not 
stand in the way of her husband's business. 

" By the way, what is Reginald's busi- 
ness ? " Aristide asked. 

She did not know. Reginald never spoke 
to her of such things ; perhaps she was too 
ignorant to understand. 

" But he will make a lot of money by going 
to America," she said. Then she was silent 
for a few moments. " Mon Dieu I " she 
sighed, at last. " How long the day has 
been ! " 

It was the beginning of many long days 
for Fleurette. Reginald did not write from 
Cherbourg or cable from New York, as he 
had promised, and the return American mail 
brought no letter. The days passed drearily. 
Sometimes, for the sake of human society, 
she accompanied the tourist parties of the 
Agence Pujol ; but the thrill had passed from 
the Morgue and the glory had departed from 
Versailles. Sometimes she wandered out by 
herself into the streets and public gardens ; 
but, pretty, unprotected, and fragile, she 
attracted the attention of evil or careless 
men, which struck cold terror into her heart. 
Most often she sat alone and listless in the 
hotel, reading the feuilleton of the Petit 
Journal, and waiting for the post to bring 
h^r news. 

" Mon Dieu, M. Pujol, what can have 
happened ? " 

41 Nothing at all, chere petite madame" — 
question and answer came many times a day. 
" Only some foolish mischance which will 
soon be explained. The good Reginald has 
written and his letter has been lost in the 
post. He has been obliged to go on business 

to San Francisco or Buenos Ayres — et, que 
voulez-vous? one cannot have letters from 
those places in twenty-four hours ! " 

" If only he had taken me with him ! " 

" But, dear Mme. Fleurette, he could 
not expose you to the hardships of travel. 
You, who are as fragile as a cobweb, how 
could you go to Patagonia or Senegal or 
Baltimore, those wild places where there 
are no comforts for women ? You must be 
reasonable. I am sure you will get a letter 
soon — or else in a day or two he will come, 
with his good, honest face as if nothing had 
occurred — these English are like that — and 
call for whisky and soda. Be comforted, 
chere petite madame" 

Aristide did his best to comfort her, threw 
her in the companionship of decent women 
staying at the hotel, and devoted his evenings 
to her entertainment. But the days passed, 
and Reginald Batterby, with the good, honest 
face, neither wrote nor ordered whisky and 
soda. Fleurette began to pine and fade. 

One day she came to Aristide. 

" M. Pujol, I have no more money left." 

" Bigref" said Pujol. "The good Bocardon 
will have to give you credit. I'll arrange it." 

" But I already owe for three weeks," said 

Aristide sought Bocardon. One week more 
was all the latter dared allow. 

"But her husband will return and pay you. 
He is my old and intimate friend. I make 
myself hoarse in telling it to you, wooden- 
head that you are ! " 

But Bocardon, who had to account to 
higher powers, the proprietors of the hotel, 
was helpless. At the end of the week Fleur- 
ette was called upon to give up her room. 
She wept with despair ; Aristide wept with 
fury ; Bocardon wept out of sympathy. 
Already, said Bocardon, the proprietors would 
blame him for not using the legal right to 
detain madame's luggage. 

" Mon Dieu! mon Dieu ! what is to become 
of me ? " wailed Fleurette. 

" You forget, madame," said Aristide, with 
one of his fine flourishes, " that you are the 
sacred trust of Aristide Pujol." 

" But I can't accept your money," objected 

" Tron de Vair ! " he cried. " Did your 
husband put you in my charge or did he not ? 
Am I your legal guardian, or am I not ? If 
I am your legal guardian, what right have you 
to question the arrangements made by your 
husband ? Answer me that." 

Fleurette, too gentle and too miserable 
for intricate argument, sighed. 




" But it is your money, all the same/ 1 
Aristide turned to Bocardon. " Try/* 
said he, " to convince a woman ! Do you 
want proofs ? Wait there a minute while 
I get them from the safe of the Agence 

He disappeared into the bureau, 
where, secure from observation^ he tore 
an oblong strip from a sheet of stiff 
paper, and, using an indelible pencil, 
wrote out something fantastic half- 
way between a cheque and a bill of 
exchange, forged as well as he could 


your husband's ' guarantee lo me, 
guardian, for four thousand francs/' 

Fleurette examined the forgery, The 
.stamp impressed hen For the simple souls 
of France there is magic in papier timbr6. 


from memory the signature of Reginald 
Batter by — the imitation of handwriting was 
one of Aristidc's many odd accomplishments — 
and made the document look legal by means 
of a receipt stamp, which he took from 
Bocardon's drawer. He returned to the 
vestibule with the strip folded and somewhat 
crumpled in his hand, " I'oila" said he, 
handing it boldly to Fleurette, " Here is 


"It was my husband who wrote this ? ** 
sh<° asked j curiously, 

" Mais, oui^ said Aristide, with an 
offended air of challenge. 

Fl curette's eyes filled again with tears. 

*' I only inquired," she said, " because this 
is the first time I have seen his hand- 

lt Ma p®mA0¥Mrm$ Aristide; 



" I will do whatever you tell me, M. Pujol/' 
said Fleurette, humbly. 

" Good ! That is talking like une bonne 
petite dame raisonnable. Now, I know a 
woman made up of holy bread whom St. 
Paul and St. Peter are fighting to have next 
them when she goes to Paradise. Her name 
is Mme. Bidoux, and she sells cabbages and 
asparagus and charcoal at No. 2i3bis, Rue 
Saint-Honore. She will arrange our little 
affair. Bocardon, will you Tiave madame's 
trunks sent to that address ? " 

He gave his arm to Fleurette, and walked 
out of the hotel, with serene confidence in the 
powers of the sainted Mme. Bidoux. Fleur- 
ette accompanied him unquestioningly. Of 
course she might have said : "If you hold 
negotiable security from my husband to the 
amount of four thousand francs, why should 
I exchange the comforts of the hotel for the 
doubtful accommodation of the sainted Mme. 
Bidoux who sells cabbages ? " But I repeat 
that Fleurette was a simple roul who took for 
granted the wisdom of so flamboyant and 
virile a creature as Aristide Pujol. 

Away up at the top of No. 2i3bis, Rue 
Saint-Honore, was a little furnished room to let, 
and there Aristide installed his sacred charge. 
Mme. Bidoux, who, as she herself maintained, 
would have cut herself into four pieces for 
Aristide — did he not save her dog's life ? 
Did he not marry her daughter to the briga- 
dier of gendarmes {sale voyou /), who would 
otherwise have left her lamenting ? Was he 
not the most mirific of God's creatures ? — 
Mme. Bidoux, although not quite appreciating 
Aristide's quixotic delicacy, took the forlorn 
and fragile wisp of misery to her capacious 
bosom. She made her free of the cabbages 
and charcoal. She provided her, at a risible 
charge, with succulent meals. She told her 
tales of her father and mother, of her neigh- 
bours, of the domestic differences between the 
concierge and his wife (soothing idyll for an 
Ariadne !), of the dirty thief of a brigadier 
of gendarmes, of her bodily ailments — her 
body was so large that they were many; 
of the picturesque death, through apoplexy, 
of the late M. Bidoux ; the brave woman, in 
short, gave her of her heart's best. As far 
as human hearts could provide a bed for 
Fleurette, that bed was of roses. As a 
matter of brutal fact, it was narrow and 
nubbly, and the little uncarpeted room was 
ten feet by seven ; but to provide it Aristide 
went to his own bed hungry. And if the bed 
of a man's hunger is not to be accounted as 
one of roses, there ought to be a vote for the 
reduction of the Recording Angel's salary. 

It must not be imagined that Fleurette 
thought the bed hard. Her bed of life from 
childhood had been nubbly. She never 
dreamed of complaining of her little room 
under the stars, and she sat among the cab- 
bages like a tired lily, quite contented with 
her material lot. But she drooped and 
drooped, and the cough returned and shook 
her ; and Aristide, realizing the sacredness of 
his charge, became a prey to anxious terrors. 

" Mire Bidoux/' said he, " she must have 
lots of good, nourishing, tender, underdone 
beef, good fillets, and entreeotes satgnantes." 

Mme. Bidoux sighed. She had a heart, but 
she also had a pocket which, like Aristide's, 
was not over-filled. " That costs dear, my 
poor friend," she said. 

" What does it matter what it costs ? It 
is I who provide," said Aristide, grandly. 

And Aristide gave up tobacco and coffee 
and the mild refreshment at cafes essential 
to the existence of every Frenchman, and 
degraded his soul by taking half-franc tips 
from tourists — a source of income which, as 
Director, M. le Directeur, Herr Direktor of 
the Agence Pujol, he had hitherto scorned 
haughtily — in order to provide Fleurette with 
underdone beefsteaks. 

All his leisure he devoted to her. She 
represented something that hitherto had not 
come into his life — something delicate, tender, 
ethereal, something of woman that was 
exquisitely adorable, apart from the flesh. 
Once, as he was sitting in the little shop, she 
touched his temple lightly with her fingers. 

" Ah, you are good to me, Aristide." 

He felt a thrill such as no woman's touch 
had ever caused to pass through him — far, 
far sweeter, cleaner, purer. If the bon Dieu 
could have given her to him then and there 
to be his wife, what bond could have been 
holier? But he had bound himself by a 
sacred obligation. His friend on his return 
should find him loyal. 

" Who could help being good to you, little 
Fleurette ? " said he. " Even an Apache 
would not tread on a lily of the valley ! " 

" But you put me in water and tend me so 

" So that you can be fresh whenever the 
dear Reginald comes back." 

She sighed. " Tell me what I can do for 
you, my good Aristide." 

" Keep well and happy and be a valiant 
little woman," said he. 

Fleurette tried hard to be valiant ; but 
the effort exhausted her strength. As the 
days went on, even Aristide's inexhaustible 
conversation failed to distract her from 



25 1 

l in despair aristipes to coax a smile fkom hick l1ts, practised h[s manv queer 


brooding. She lost the trick of laughter. 
In the evenings j when he was most with her, 
she would sit, either in the shop or in the 
little room at the back, her blue childish eyes 
fixed on him wistfully. At first he tried to 
lure her into the gay street ; but walking 
tired hen He encouraged her to sit outside 
on the pavement of the Rue Sain t-Hon ore and 
join with Mme. Bidoux in the gossip of neigh- 
bours ; but she listened to them with uncom- - 


prehending ears. In despair Aristide, to 
coax a .smile from her lips, practised his many 
queer accomplishments* He conjured with 
cards ; he juggled with oranges ; he had a 
mountebank's trick of putting one leg round 
his neck ; he imitated the voices of cats and 
pigs and ducks , till Mme* Bidoux held her 
sides with mirth* He spent time and thought 
in elaborating what he called bonnes farces, 
such as dressing himself up in Mme. Bidoux's 




raiment and personifying a crabbed customer. 
Fleurette smiled but listlessly at all these 

One day she was taken ill. A doctor, 
summoned, said many learned words which 
Aristide and Mme. Bidoux tried hard to 

" But, after all, what is the matter with 
her ? " 

" She has no strength to struggle. She 
wants happiness." 

" Can you tell me the druggist's where 
that can be procured ? " asked Aristide. 

The doctor shrugged his shoulders. " I 
tell you the truth. It is one of those pul- 
monary cases. Happy, she will live ; un- 
happy, she will die." 

" My poor Mme. Bidoux, what is to be 
done ? " asked Aristide, after the doctor had 
gone off with his modest fee. " How are 
we to make her happy ? " 

" If only she could have news of her 
husband ! " replied Mme. Bidoux. 

Aristidc's anxieties grew heavier. It was 
November, when knickerbockered and culture- 
seeking tourists no longer fill the cheap hotels 
of Paris. The profits of the Agence Pujol 
dwindled. Aristide lived on bread and cheese, 
and foresaw the time when cheese would be 
a sinful luxury. Meanwhile Fleurette had 
her nourishing food, and grew more like the 
ghost of a lily every day. But her eyes 
followed Aristide, wherever he went in her 
presence, as if he were the god of her sal- 

One day Aristide, with an unexpected franc 
or two in his pocket, stopped in front of a 
bureau de tabac. A brown packet of caporal 
and a book of cigarette-papers — a cigarette 
rolled — how good it would be ! He hesitated, 
and his glance fell on a collection of foreign 
stamps exposed in the window. Among them 
were twelve Honduras stamps all postmarked. 
He stared at them, fascinated. 

" Mon brave Aristide!" he cried. " If the 
bon Dieu does not send you these vibrating 
inspirations, it is because you yourself have 
already conceived them ! " 

He entered the shop and emerged, not with 
caporal and cigarette-papers, but with the 
twelve Honduras stamps. 

That night he sat up in his little bedroom 
at No. 2i3bis, Rue Saint-Honore, until his 
candle failed, inditing a letter in English to 
Fleurette. At the head of his paper he wrote 
" Hotel Rosario, Honduras." And at the 
end of the letter he signed the name of 
Reginald Batterby. Where Honduras was, 
be had but a vague idea. For Fleurette, 

Digitized by V_^OOgle 

at any rate, it would be somewhere at the 
other end of the world, and she would not 
question any want of accuracy in local detail. 
Just before the light went out he read the 
letter through with great pride. Batterby 
alluded to the many letters he had posted 
from remote parts of the globe, gave glowing 
forecasts of the fortune that Honduras had 
in store for him, reminded her that he had 
placed sufficient funds for her maintenance in 
the hands of Aristide Pujol, and assured her 
that the time was not far off when she would 
be summoned to join her devoted husband. 

" Mme. Bidoux was right," said he, before 
going to sleep. " This is the only way to 
make her happy." 

The next day Fleurette received the letter. 
The envelope bore the postmarked Honduras 
stamp. It had been rubbed on the dusty 
pavement to take off the newness. It was 
in her husband's handwriting. There was 
no mistake about it — it was a letter from 

" Are you happier now, little doubting 
female St. Thomas that you are ? " cried 
Aristide when she had told him the news. 

She smiled at him out of grateful eyes, and 
touched his hand. 

" Much happier, mon bon ami" she said, 

Later in the day she handed him a letter 
addressed to Batterby. It had no stamp. 

" Will you post this for me, Aristide ? " 

Aristide put the letter in his pocket and 
turned sharply away, lest she should see a 
sudden rush of tears. He had not counted 
on this innocent trustfulness. He went to 
his room. The poor little letter ! He had 
not the heart to destroy it. No ; he would 
keep it till Batterby came ; it was not his 
to destroy. So he threw it into a drawer. 

Having once begun the deception, how- 
ever, he thought it necessary to continue. 
Every week, therefore, he invented a letter 
from Batterby. To interest her he drew 
upon his Provencal imagination. He de- 
scribed combats with crocodiles, lion-hunts, 
feasts with terrific savage:, from the interior, 
who brought their lady wives chastely clad 
in petticoats* made out of human teeth ; he 
drew pictures of the town, a kind of palm- 
shaded Paris by the sea^ where one ate orto- 
lans and oysters as big as soup-plates, and 
where Chinamen with pigtails rode about 
the streets on camels. It was not a correct 
description of Honduras, but, all the same, 
an exotic atmosphere stimulating and capti- 
vating rose from the pages. With this it was 
necessary to combine expressions of affection, 




At first it was difficult. Essential delicacy 
restrained him. He had also to keep in mind 
Batterby's vernacular. To address Fleurette, 
impalpable creation of fairyland, as " old 
girl " was particularly distasteful. By de- 
grees, however, the artist prevailed. And 
then at last the man himself took to forgetting 
the imaginary writer and poured out words 
of love, warm, true, and passionate. 

And every week Fleurette would smile and 
tell him the wondrous news, and would put 
into his own hands an unstamped letter to 
post, which he, with a wrench of the heart, 
would add to the collection in the drawer. 

Once she said, diffidently, with an unwonted 
blush and her pale blue eyes swimming : " I 
write English so badly. Won't you read the 
letter and correct any mistakes ? " 

But Aristide laughed and licked the flap 
of the envelope and closed it. " What has 
love to do with spelling and grammar ? The 
good Reginald would prefer your bad English 
to all the turned phrases of the Academic 

" It is as you like, Aristide," said Fleurette, 
with wistful eyes. 

Yet, in spite of the weekly letters, Fleurette 
continued to droop. The winter came, and 
Fleurette was no longer able to stay among 
the cabbages of Mme. Bidoux. She lay on 
her bed in the little room, ten feet by seven, 
away, away at the top of the house in the 
Rue Saint-Honore. The doctor, informed of 
her comparative happiness, again shrugged 
his shoulders. There was nothing more to 
be done. 

" She is dying, monsieur, for want of 
strength to live." 

Then Aristide went about with a great 
heartache. Fleurette would die; she would 
never see the man she loved again. What 
would he say when he returned and learned 
the tragic story ? He would not even know 
that Aristide, loving her, had been loyal to 
him. When the Director of the Agence Pujol 
personally conducted the clients of the Hotel 
du Soleil et de l'Ecosse to the Grand Trianon 
and pointed out the bed of the Empress 
Josephine he nearly broke down. 

" What is the Empress doing now ? " 

What was Fleurette doing now ? Going 
to join the Empress in the world of shadows. 

The tourists talked after the manner of 
their kind. 

" She must have found the bed very hard, 
poor dear." 

" Give me an iron bedstead and a good old 
spring mattress." 

11 Ah, but, my dear sir, you forget. The 

Digitized by GoOglC 

Empress's bed was slung on the back of tame 
panthers which Napoleon brought from 

It was hard to jest convincingly to the 
knickerboekered with death in one's soul. 

" Most beloved little Flower," ran the last 
letter that Fleurette received, " I have just 
had a cable from Aristide saying that you 
are very ill. I will come to you as soon as I 
can. Ces pelits yeux de pervenche — I am 
learning your language here, you see — haunt 
me day and night . . ." etcetera, etcetera. 

Aristide went up to her room with a great 
bunch of chrysanthemums. The letter peeped 
from under the pillow. Fleurette was very 
weak. Mme. Bidoux, who, during Fleurette's 
illness, had allowed her greengrocery business 
to be personally conducted to the deuce by a 
youth of sixteen very much in love with the 
lady who sold sausages and other charcuterie 
next door, had spread out the fortune-telling 
cards on the bed and was prophesying men- 
daciously. Fleurette took the flowers and 
clasped them to her bosom. 

" No letter for ce cher Reginald ? " 

She shook her head. " I can write no 
more," she whispered. 

She closed her eyes. Presently she said, 
in a low voice : — 

" Aristide — if you kiss me, I think I can 
go to sleep." 

He bent down to kiss her forehead. A 
fragile arm twined itself about his neck, and 
he kissed her on the lips. 

" She is sleeping," said Mme. Bidoux, after 
a while. 

Aristide tiptoed out of the room. 

And so died Fleurette. Aristide borrowed 
money from the kind-hearted Bocardon for 
a beautiful funeral, and Mme. Bidoux and 
Bocardon and a few neighbours and himself 
saw her laid to rest. When they got back 
to the Rue Saint-Honore he told Mme. Bidoux 
about the letters. She wept and clasped him, 
weeping too, in her kind, fat old arms. 

The next evening Aristide, coming back 
from his day's work at the Hotel du Soleil 
et de l'Ecosse, was confronted in the shop by 
Mme. Bidoux, hands on broad hips. 

" Tiens, mon petit" she said, without pre- 
liminary greeting. " You are an angel. I 
knew it. But that a man's an angel is no 
reason for his not being an imbecile. Read 

She plucked a paper from her apron- 
pocket and thrust it into his hand. He read 
it, and blinked in amazement. 

" Where did you get this, Mdre Bidoux ? " 

" Where I got many more. In your 

I lull I .' I I 




drawer, The letters you were saving for 
that infamous scoundrel, I wanted to know 
what she had written to him." 

" Mere Bidoux ! " cried Aristide, " Those 
letters were sacred ! " 

" Bah ! " said Mme* Ridoux, unabashed. 
14 There is nothing sacred to a sapper or an 

her. Aristide's pious fraud had never 
deceived her for a second, Too gentle, too 
timid to let him know what was in her heart, 
she hud written the secret patiently week 
after week, hoping every time that curiosity, 
or pity, or something she knew not what ? 
would induce him to open the idle letter, and 


old grandmother who loves an imbecile, I 
have read the letters, et voi!d 3 et voild t el 
voilai** And she emptied her pockets of 
all the tetters, minus the envelopes, that 
Fleurette hud written. 

And, after one swift glance at the first 
letter, Aristide had no compunction in reading. 
They were all addressed to himself. 

They were very short, ill- written in a poor 
little uncultivated hand. But they all con- 
tained one message, that of her love for 
Aristidc, Whatever illusions she may have 
had concerning Batterby had soon vanished. 
She knew, with the unerring instinct of 
woman, that he had betrayed and deserted 

wondering in her simple peasant's soul at the 
delicacy that caused him to refrain. Once she 
had boldly given him the envelope unclosed. 

" She died for want of love, parbleu" said 
Aristide, *' and there was mine quivering in 
my heart and trembling on my lips all the 
time. . > . She had des* yeux de pervenche. 
Ah ! nom d'un chim I It is only with me that 
Providence plays such tricks," 

He walked to the window and looked out 
into the grey street. Presently I heard him 
murmuring the words of the old French 
song : — 

Elle est cpoite en fevrier; 


Modern Japanese Humour. 

people exists among whom 
a sense of humour is developed 
to a greater extent than it is 
among the Japanese ; and 
there is certainly no type of 
humour so difficult for a 
foreigner to understand as 
the Japanese. At root, of course, it is of the 
same nature as the humour of all the world ; 
but the unique character and genius of the 
language, the peculiar traditions and hahit 
of thought of the people, grown up through 
so many centuries apart from contact with 
the outer world, contribute to make the point 
of a Japanese joke a puzzle to the outsider. 
The most brilliant flash of fun is apt to need 
laborious explanation ; and the moment one 
begins to explain a joke the fun vanishes, 
while by the end of an elaborate exposition 
it becomes a bore and a stupid weariness. 

In Europe the pun is, as a rule, a poor form 
of wit, though, of course, everybody can quote 
bright exceptions. In Japan the play of 
words — a thing in the Japanese language far 
too subtle and significant to be called a pun- 
net only makes for 
wit and humour, but 
carries subtleties of 
poetic meaning un- 
known in other 
tongues. No transla- 
tion can even make 
intelligible the full sig- 
nificance of a Japan- 
ese poern ; there is an 
interplay of meanings 
and a use of words 
involving literary al- 
lusion and association 
that utterly defy re- 
production ; and a 
mere verselet of a few 
lines will carry more 
curiously and beauti- 
fully interwoven 
meaning than is to be 
compressed into a 
European poem four 
times as long. So that 
the mere straightfor- 
ward translation of a 
Japanese poem is the 
baldest and most in- 
adequate of all trans- 

Fig. 1 



lations — the translation of the poem lately 
written by the Emperor of Japan on the Coro- 
nation of His Majesty the King is a case in 
point. This being the ease when the play of 
meanings has a serious significance, it is quite 
obvious that when the significance is humorous 
any translation is similarly hopeless. 

For this reason it is inevitable that a vast 
deal of Japanese humour must remain for 
ever a sealed book to the foreigner un- 
acquainted with Japanese language and litera- 
ture. But there is a great deal more which 
is as readily comprehensible to a foreigner 
as that of his own countrymen. We may 
take a short glance at one of the popular 
Japanese comic papers of the present day— 
the one more easily comprehensible by 
Europeans. For ? in fact, there are two 
Japanese comic papers, both very popular— 
the Kokkei Shimhun, wholly and entirely 
Japanese in character, and the Tokyo Puck 3 
which, as its name suggests, has a largely 
Europeanized outlook. The Koftkci Shiuibun 
wc must set aside for the moment, for its fun 
is so completely Japanese that explanations 

would be tedious and 
cause it to evaporate 
entirely. As a small 
instance, it may be 
mentioned that many 
Japanese written cha- 
racters are com- 
pounded of two or 
more others, each 
having a wholly dif- 
ferent meaning ; and 
a great deal of shrewd 
fun arises and many 
sharp hits at current 
events are made out 
of the associations of 
these incongruous 
meanings — all plainly- 
lost on a foreigner 
ignorant of the writ- 
ten characters. Even 
in the Tokyo Puck, 
some recent illustra- 
tions from which we 
re produce , the best of 
the fun is apt to lie 
in the purely native 
jokes and in political 
and local allusions 

Prince Yarnagataa anger at ihr attacks m 

" Tokyo Puck." uri g i n a f fro m 




little understood on this side of the world. 
So we must do the best we can with what 
is reasonably intelligible. 

Speaking of political allusions, hy the 
by , the Tokyo Puck permits itself a deal 
of licence in attacking public men. In 
March of thus year, for instance, it came 
out with a whole number devoted to a 
collection of gibes and jeers at Field- 
Marshal Prince Yamagata, a very dis- 
tinguished soldier and statesman, whose 
public career began in the wars of the 
revolution nearly fifty years ago. We 
reproduce a single sketch of one set of 
half-a-dozen depicting respectively Prince 
Yamagata's Joy, Astonishment, Embar- 
rassment, Fear, Sorrow, and Anger at 
different periods in his career, the sketch 
reproduced (Fig, 1) representing his Anger 
— on perusing the issue of the Tokyo Puck 
containing it. 

But such a numbered the Tokyo Puck 
is rare, though political allusions in plenty 
sprinkle the pages of its more usual 
issues. Leaving such matters aside for 
the moment, however, we will glance at 
random through a few r recent issues. 
Here, for instance, in the number suc- 
ceeding that devoted to Prince Yamagata, 
is a set of four sketches of a lazy man, 
of which we reproduce one. The lazy 
man is depicted, first, washing himself with 
a few drops of water poured into his hand 
from a tea-kettle ; next, mending his torn 
clothes with toothpicks \ then, gathering 
his news without the trouble of reading by 
sitting on his bed and listening at a chink in 
his neighbour's wall ; and lastly, on a national 
holiday, hanging out the flag which every 
Japanese proudly displays on such occasions 
from the bed on which he lies supine (Fig. 
2), The bed, as will be observed, is that of 
wadded quilts, which is spread on the floor 
of any available room and is the Japanese 
substitute for all our elaboration of bed- 
steads and hangings, 

Fig. 2. — The lazy man puts out hi* flag on a national holiday 

Digitized by C »1H 

fig, 3, Modem dress throws sir^n^r ihftdbwi. 

Two numbers earlier we have a self-explana- 
tory sketch in ridieule of the uncompromis- 
ingly European additions which many 
Japanese now make to their national dress. 
Here the cloth caps and high-collared coats 
of two men help to throw unmistakably 
feminine shadows on a neighbouring wall 

(Fig- 3)- 

In the same number a series of half-a-dozen 

little sketches satirizes the doll-like ideals and 
characteristics of the ordinary Japanese geisha, 
or singing -girl (Fig. 4). The first sketch 
shows a quarrel between the hina — the most 
doll-like and conventional of all dolls, who 
occupy the place of honour at the girls* festival 
on the third day of the third month. The lady 
hina — an armless and rigid bundle of the most 
elementary form— decides, in the second 
sketch, to leave her consort, and become a 
get dm. It must be remembered, by the 
way, that the sketches stand in Japanese 
ordur — that is, they begin at the top right- 
hand corner and follow downward and to 
the left, as the numbers indicate. She 
goes {3) to a hairdresser and has her hair 
done in the very latest style. Next (4) 
she decks herself in the most elegant 
clothes, and {5) applies for an engage- 
ment to an impresario of geisha. M Oh, 
no, no, H says the manager, il you are not 
doll-like enough ! " " But I am a doll ! " 
protests the astonished htna. !l Yes, I 




4. — 1 he <JqII which wat not doll-like enough tar a, 

know/' is the final reply; "but a gmAa must 
be much more like a doll than that ! " 

The political cartoons, as we have hinted, 
are not always intelligible to the ordinary 
foreigner ; but the front page of the number 
containing the story of the doll who wished 
to be a geiska is filled with one which is easy 
to understand, and therefore may be 
presented as a type* This year the 
Civil List of the Emperor of Japan 
was increased by a large amount, 
and His Majesty has signalized the 
event by devoting the whole of the 
first year's increase to charity. In 
the cartoon (Fig. 5) we see the weight 
of the Imperial example, symbolized 
by an enormous bag of gold, so 
pressing upon the backs of certain 
high officials and millionaires as to 
cause them to sweat copious gold, 
which distils into a graduated bottle 
standing below before the hungry 
eyes of many bimbo -nin^ or poor 
people. Portraits are to be recog- 
nized among the figures of the per- 
spirers — notably those of the Prime 
Minister, Marquess Katsura, and 
Prince Yamagata — whose title, it 
must be remembered , denotes no 
Imperial relationship., but is equiva- 
lent merely to that of a duke in 
this country. 

The idea of fitting the clock to 
human requirements is not the 
monopoly of our Daylight -Saving 
Bill promoters, as the next illustra- 
tion (Kig. 6) makes clear. It tomes 
from the same number as the fol- 
lowing somewhat riotous! y-drawn 
sketch, in which the family disci- 
pline of human -kind is unfavour- 

ably contrasted 
with that of 
the supposed 
inferior animals 

(Fig- 7)- 

It will be 
noticed that in 
common with 
other features 
of the paper 
of the Tokyo 
Puck are semi- 
European! zed 
— i ndeed, 
rather more 
than s e m i- 

though the originals are still mainly drawn 
by the brush in the Japanese manner. But 
the old styles of Japanese art do not lend 
themselves to modern methods of quick 
reproduction, and with the adoption of 
European mechanism in this department the 
work of the artists has become modified 

The wei^hr ^jt^|.Jyp06ffr^4 example causes the rich t R 


s 5 8 


Fig. 6, — Mialress : " Why do you slop the clock at five, O-Sun } " 
Servant ; "Well, ma'am, you tell me to get up at five, but 
so mv how when I do get up I find the clock ahead ot me. 
But it wjII be all right now. ' 

accordingly. So that for distinctively native 
pictorial humour we must go back to the old 
artists — 10 Itcho of the seventeenth century, 
to Sukoku of the eighteenth, to Hokusai of 
the early nineteenth, and, at the very latest, 
to Kyosai, who died in 1889. The Kokkci 
Shimbun keeps perhaps a trifle closer to the 

old methods than the Tokyo Puck, 
and t indeed, sometimes gets some 
very good fun out of burlesque pic- 
tures suggesting how modern sub- 
jects might have been treated by the 
ancient pain t er s — another field of 
humour closed to the foreigner un- 
acquainted with the works of the 
old Japanese masters. But the new 
European methods are new, and the 
Japanese genius will no doubt so 
adapt itself in reasonable course of 
time that we shall find a more dis- 
tinctively Japanese note even in 
modern process - blocks. Meanwhile 
drawings of a very clearly Japanese 
character are not wholly wanting, as 
we may see from the very quaint and 
ingenious advertisement which we 
reproduce from the Tokyo Puck, 

There is a certain design which one 
finds constantly repeated in Japanese 
o rna merit — that cal led th e im is u - 
tomayi — a circle filled by three comma- 
shaped figures with their heads toward 
the centre and their tails turning off 
symmetrically into the circumference 
of the ring. More than the whole 
space of this article might be filled 
with an interesting discussion on the 
meaning and origin of this ancient 
symbol, a triune figure which some 

to be derived from a sun-myth, 
a collocation of the ancient 


others take for 

jewels called magatama, which others again 

relate to the three legs that are the arms 

(no pun) of the Isle of Man, and which has 

many other suggested explanations. The 

symbol forms a part of many Japanese crests 

Fig. 7.— The Old Hen: "Man at the head of creation ? Pooh I Look at that woman, who can' I 
keep three children in order, and see mc manafrr th\riy-A'$rrim 

1 4 \ 4 "%. i T. I 1" 1 ^Bn 1 tf 1 1 ra l I I - — ■ ill 





Fig, fl* —A quaint advertisement of lager beer. 

is held generally to have n propitious signi- 
ficance and is often varied and designed 
with all sorts of fanciful modifications and 

Here is one of the variations of the mystic 
figure, adapted to the advertisement of lager 
beer ! (Fig. 8). For you must know that recently 
three Japanese firms of lager-beer brewers 
amalgamated, and this is their announcement, 
We look from above on a round table, about 
which sit the three brewers, clinking their 
beer-mugs fraternally in the centre. Each 
figure Is the precise replica of the others, and 
the propitious sign of the mitsu-iomoyi is 
formed by the uncovered spaces of the table 
enclosed by the sprawled and bent arms of 
the partners. Not only an ingenious and 
quaint advertisement, but one with a meaning 
of its own. And it is certainly effective ; for 
who could turn the page without stopping to 
glance at this eccentric design ? It is in 
colours, of course ; the greater number of 
illustrations in the Tokyo Puck are in colour, 
though it is scarcely the colour of the old 
Japanese prints ! 

A sketch with some interest for us (not an 
advertisement this time) is one depicting 
Admiral Togo turning away frown ingly from 
a polite impresario who begs his attendance 
to view the Minatogawa dance at Kobe, and 

contrasting this with the hero's delight 
at a theatrical entertainment in England 
(Kig. 9), It must be remembered that 
the ancient prejudice of the military caste 
against attendance at stage performances 
is not yet wholly extinct in Japan, though 
doubtless the gallant Admiral under- 
stands w r cll enough that in Rome one 
does as do the Romans. 

One may gain some slight idea of the 
curious structure of the Japanese lan- 
guage, and of the way in which it lends 
itself to play of words, from a series of 
sketches (not reproduced here) with 
legends telling us that in Parliament the 
Government gives sensei of constructive 
legislation ; next, that when the Session 
is over, the people bewail the sertsei of 
that same Government ; while the Prime 
Minister, sensei of political craft, has 
managed to get through the Session with- 
out difficulty, though such is his tyranny 
in the House that he may soon be ex- 
pected to put members under semri, with 
a military guard. The word sensei in 
these succeeding sentences carrying the 
A respective meanings of, first, a pledge ; 
second, despotism; third, a past master; 
and, fourth, martial law. Still more 
meanings expressed by the same sound are 
revealed in an illustrated anecdote in another 
part of the paper T where a doctor (sensei) is 
sent for to attend a lunatic, and, by error 
of the messenger, a professor (sensei) of 
jiu-jitsu appears, flings the unfortunate man 
down, and quells him utterly. 

Events in China arc glanced at occasionally, 

FipaoifFdidfriEjli^an and Togo in England. 




Fig. 10. — A Chine** god nonplussed. 

as we may sec from the six sketches depicting 
the puzzledom of the god Kwan-ti in recent 
circumstances (Fig. 10). It was rumoured that 
the old Chinese rosturnc was 1o he abolished, 
and European clothes substituted ; whereupon 
the pawnbrokers (i) ; who had large stocks 
of the ancient clothes on hand, prayed to 
Kwan-ti to defeat the proposal ; while the 
tailors (2) } who practised the European styles 
— not very well, it would seem — prayed that 
the proposal might be adopted. Very natur- 
ally poor Kwan-ti {3) was sadly puzzled what 
to do. He left his temple (4), and strolled off 
to consult K'ung Ming, a wise sage of ancient 
days (5), who provided him with a copy of 

the usual notice hung out by tradesmen in 
the East announcing that business is sus- 
pended during vacation, and advised him to 
hang it on his temple (6) and take a holiday 
till the question settled itself ! 

Last, we reproduce another half-dozen small 
sketches, illustrating the discomfiture of a 
quack hypnotist (Fig. n). A patient arrives 
(i)j on whom he practises and sends into a 
deep mesmeric sleep (2) ; but to his horror 
he finds it wholly impossible to rouse him (3, 
4). Thf* quark, in terror, rushes off to fetch 
a real doctor (5), and returns to find the 
" patient " gone, and a good many other 
little things gone with him (6) ! 

• AW JMR*J$- 

-:<-! -v 





iPfl L^s& 

, ,■ JW I ttEffMtf fr 

' tn ' at 

AVJJ \ i.JLiV? 

*mh' j rf '"-r %i 





Tke Rigkt Sort. 


Illustrated ly W. H. Margetaon, R.L 

TON was a masterful sort of 
woman, with a quite middle- 
class habit of attending to all 
the details of management of 
the vast household of her 
mansion in town and two 
splendid seats in the country. 

So that when Mr. Joseph Chadwick, of the 
great London firm of Chadwick and Co., 
upholsterers and decorators, came down to 
the Barbicans, the splendid family seat in 
the Midlands, to take orders for the refurnish- 
ing of the principal apartments on the occa- 
sion of an approaching Royal visit, her Grace 
not only saw him herself and gave him the 
fullest directions, but accompanied him on 
foot through the grounds when he went away, 
to the gates where he had left his modest fly 

And all the while she talked and talked, 
insisting on details over and over again, 
while he bowed and assented, and took notes, 
and neatly acquiesced in her marvellous 
judgment ; although, when he was back at 
home with his wife, all that he remembered 
of the gracious conversation was that " the 
old woman jawed my head off." 

The Duchess accompanied Mr. Chadwick 
even outside the gates, still reminding, still 
exhorting and insisting, and stood in the 
middle of the road, a stately figure in grey 
silk and priceless lace, the sheen of pearls 
round her neck and the flash of diamonds on 
her fingers giving an added touch of brilliancy 
to her imposing appearance. 

A young groom from a neighbouring hunt- 
ing stable, who was passing by the park-gates 
of the Barbicans as the Duchess and Mr. 
Chadwick came out, was struck by her regal- 
looking figure, and wondered whether ever 
a queen was more queenly than she was. 

Just as this thoiight flashed through the 
young man's mind there came round the 
sharp curve in the road beyond the gates, 
without the slightest warning, a large motor- 
car, only just visible in a huge cloud of dust. 

The young groom had his wits about him. 
Walking on the grass border by the side of 

the road in order not to approach too near 
the great lady, he was almost level with her 
and Mr. Chadwick when the car swung round 
the bend. He sprang into the roadway, 
right in front of the car, and, grabbing the two 
figures as best he could, dragged them out 
of danger. 

It had to be done with lightning quickness, 
somehow, anyhow. There was no time for 
consideration or for ceremony ; for in another 
moment both Duchess and upholsterer would 
have been under the front wheels of the car. 

But, alas ! the immediate consequences 
of the young man's brave act were disastrous. 
For when the man in charge of the wheel, 
realizing how narrowly a dreadful tragedy 
had been averted, had swu&g over the car 
to the other side of the road and stopped to 
look back, what he saw wer$ the figures of 
three people, two men and* & woman, lying 
in a sort of heap on the grass beside the road, 
and scrambling awkwardly to their feet. 

As it happened, no one was at all hurt ex- 
cept the groom, who sustained a slight sprain 
of the right ankle. He was the first to get 
on his feet ; the upholsterer, an older and 
heavier man, followed suit. And then, 
between them, they raised the Duchess from 
the ground. 

But, oh ! the groom trembled when he saw 
the expression of her handsome face. No 
gratitude for her escape from death or serious 
injury did he see there. All that she was 
conscious of was the terrible insult to her 
dignity which she had experienced in being 
dragged to the ground and tumbled in a heap 
by the roadside with two male things of 
vastly inferior consequence ! 

And then the injury to her personal appear- 
ance which she had suffered in that short 
moment ! Her delicately-tinted gown was 
stained green by the rank, long grass. Her 
large white chip hat, with its veil of lace and 
wreath of pale roses, lay crushed in the dust 
at her feet. Her lovely silver hair was dis- 
ordered, while the rope of pearls which she 
wore round her throat had burst, and the 
precious gems lay scattered on the road. 

The groom, abashed, scarlet, muttering 
U N I V Efol Tt OF Ml L H IG A N 



hoarse apologies , and conscious, under an 
uneasy sense of injustice, that he had com- 
mitted an unpardonable offence, was picking 
up the scattered pearls, Mr. Chad wick, more 
appalled by the accident to the Duchess's 
dignity, and fearful of its possible conse- 
quences to himself, than grateful for his own 
escape, was saying he knew not what of 

wiping the dust from his hat. The groom 
came humbly to Lord ( cclru with the pearls 
he had picked up. 

l< Vm that sorry I don't know what to say, 
my lord/ 1 said he, as he [mt the gems into 
the young man's hand, " for having been so 
rough, But, my lord, if you'd ha' been here 
you'd ha' seen as how there wasn't no time 



commonplace and foolish to the coldly irate 
great lady. 

And in the midst of all this a fair-haired, 
slim young man, one of the younger sons of 
the Duchess, came running down the drive 
to find out what had happened. 

The Duchess said little, but, with com- 
pressed lips and a freezing manner, she 
walked, erect and stately, through the open 
gate into the park> leaving her son, Lord 
Cedric, to say whatever was necessary to the 
young person who appeared to be looked 
upon as responsible for the mischief. 

Mr. Chadwick stood by the door of the fly. 

to think. Another minute and they'd both 
— her Grace and the gentleman — ha 5 been 
under the wheels. You jest ask the gentle- 
man yourself." 

liut Lord Cedric took his hand and shook 
it warmly, in spite ol his reluctance. 

" You saved their lives, undoubtedly," said 
he. " And my mother will be as grateful as 
T am when she has £ OL over her shaking. 
You must make allowance ior tlu* shock it 
gave her. In the meantime you must let 
mc " 

In an instanKhe„had, ^hipped a ten-pound 

note out 

hadi whipped a ten 
A tlie'pocket^boili with which he 


ol tlie pocket- hoc* with 




had been fumbling, and tried to thrust it 
into the young man's hand. 

But the groom, turning scarlet, refused to 
take it. 

" No, no, my lord, I couldn't think of that," 
he said. " I'm all right, I am. I'm in a 
good situation, and I don't want your money. 
But I thank you very much for speaking so 
nice about it." 

Lord Cedric looked abashed in his turn. 
Then he laid his hand on the groom's shoulder. 

" Well," he said, " I'm glad you feel like 
that about it. But look here. Some day 
you may want a friend. If you should, I 
want you to promise that you'll write to my 
mother and let her know," 

" To her Grace ? " cried the groom, in- 

" Yes. She's the best-hearted woman in 
the world, and she'll be a good friend to you 
if you should want one. But tell me your 

" Horrocks, my lord ; Jim — I should say 
James — Horrocks." 

Lord Cedric scribbled it down. 

" James Horrocks — I won't forget. Now, 
don't you forget either." 

" I won't, my lord. And thank you very 

Then Mr. Chadwick came up to him, before 
Lord Cedric was out of hearing. 

" Mr. Horrocks," he said, warmly — for he 
had caught the name — " I can't thank you 
enough for risking your life as you did. You 
must allow me " 

And taking out of his pocket-book two ten- 
pound notes, he tried hard to induce the 
groom to take them. But it had become a 
point of honour with Horrocks to take no 
reward for what he had done ; it was enough 
for him that Lord Cedric's kind words had 
restored his sense of justice and self-respect, 
momentarily destroyed by the Duchess's 
coldness and ingratitude. 

Mr. Chadwick took a card from his pocket, 
and Horrocks knew enough of London to 
recognize the name of one of its most im- 
portant upholstering firms. 

" Remember always, Horrocks," he said, 
" that you have a friend in me. If ever you 
should be in any trouble send in that card to 
me. Or, better still, I'll write my private 
address on it, and you can come to me there. 
I'm only the son of one of the members of 
the firm, and at our business place you might 
not get at me so easily." 

And Mr. Chadwick, who was a stout, good- 
looking man of middle age, very well dressed, 
and of kindly and good manners, shook hands 

with the young groom with a warmth and 
good-will which amply made amends for the 
Duchess's unkindness. 

For two years Horrocks saw nothing of 
the two people whose lives he had saved, 
but at the end of that period misfortune fell 
upon him. He was invalided as the result 
of a kick from a horse, and when, after some 
months in hospital, he came out into the 
world again, he found that he had to face 
hard times. 

He was still too lame to follow his own 
calling, and such casual employment as he 
was fit for was hard to get. Finally the day 
came when he sat in his little top room in a 
back street in the West-end of London with 
no breakfast to look back upon and no dinner 
to look forward to ; and then it occurred, to 
him that it was time to try the memories of 
the two people who had promised to befriend 

He debated with whom to begin. 

He knew too much of the world to reckon 
too securely upon either of his untried friends ; 
but he thought the pride of a duchess was as 
likely to hold good as the generosity of a 
tradesman, so he tossed up his last remaining 
halfpenny, and it came down the Duchess. 

So he wrote a laborious letter on a sheet 
of paper begged from his good-natured land- 
lady, and, having found out her Grace's 
mansion in Mayfair (Lord Cedric had not 
thought it necessary to give him his mother's 
address), Jim Horrocks dropped the letter 
himself into the letter-box one April evening, 
having first ascertained by the lights in the 
windows that the family were at home. 

Two days passed, two horrible days, but he 
got no answer to his letter, and then he tried 
Mr. Chadwick. 

He called at the handsome house in Hyde 
Park Gardens, the address which Mr. Chad- 
wick had written on his card, and, as luck 
would have it, he caught Mr. Joseph Chadwick 
himself coming out on the way to his motor- 
car, which stood at the door. 

With him was a handsome lady in a beau- 
tiful dress, whom he guessed to be the uphol- 
sterer's wife. She looked keenly and suspi- 
ciously at Horrocks, and asked her husband 
who he was as the ex-groom, reddening very 
much, saluted him. 

To the young man's great relief, Mr. 
Chadwick recognized him at once. 

" Why, Horrocks, I'm very glad to see 
you, mv lad, but you're looking thin. Been 
ill, eh ? " 

As he spoke he shook hands with him 
warmly, stopping short on the steps to do so, 




" Yes, sir. I've been a long time in hospital. 
Kicked by a 'orse. I'm rather — rather down 
on my luck, sir, and I thought as how per- 
haps — you know — you told me, sir " 

" To be sure, to be sure. I'm very glad 
you came to me. The Duchess treated you 
handsomely, eh ? " 

The young man grew redder still. 

" I wrote to her, sir, but she hasn't replied." 

" Ah, that's the worst of those great folks, 
Horrocks. It's not altogether their fault. 
They get spoilt through too much adulation 
and all that sort of thing." 

" Well, sir, I didn't expect much from her 
Grace. You remember how she took it," 
said Horrocks, with a wan smile. 

Mr. Chadwick laughed and slapped him on 
the back. 

" Well, we'll do better than that for you. 
Wait a minute while I speak to Mrs. 

His wife was calling to him impatiently 
from the motor-car. Mr. Chadwick ran down 
the steps, exchanged a few words hurriedly 
with his wife, and came back again. Horrocks 
had a fancy that the lady was not inclined 
to be liberal, and that her view affected her 
husband's inclinations unfavourably. How- 
ever that might be, Mr. Chadwick put his 
hand into his pocket, took out two half- 
crowns, and, pressing them into his hand, 
said, quickly : — 

" There's something to go on with, 
Horrocks. I haven't much cash about me 
this afternoon. But you shall hear from me. 
We must do something for you, my lad. 
Wait a few days, and — you'll see." 

He added these words kindly, in a low 
voice, and Horrocks, although he knew what 
bitter work " waiting " might have to be for 
him, thanked him warmly, and went away 

But five shillings does not go far in London, 
and in a day or two the poor fellow felt the 
pinch of want again. 

By this time he was getting rather angry 
with his " friends," and with a very sore 
feeling at his heart he went boldly to the 
Duchess's house, and, knowing that his letter 
had been received and read long ago, he rang 
the bell and, giving his name, asked to see the 
Duchess of Edgbaston. 

The footman only looked him coldly up 
and down, and informed him that her Grace 
was" not at home." 

At that very moment a handsome landau, 
with the family arms painted upon it in a 
tiny medallion, drew up to the door, and a 
footman came out with her Grace's bag and 

sunshade, while the man who had spoken to 
him waved him away, anxious that the 
Duchess should not be annoyed on her way 
to her carriage by the importunities of the 
shabby young man with the dragging leg. 

Horrocks turned away with more of a sort 
of bitter amusement in his heart than either 
anger or disgust. He had not expected much 
from the Duchess, so to get nothing did not 
really surprise him very much. 

Unfortunately, it did matter. 

He spent a horrible evening, and on the 
following day started on another tramp in 
search of work, after peeping in at the various 
doors of the big establishment of Messrs. 
Chadwick and Co., in the hope of catching a 
glimpse of his friend. 

In this he failed. He wandered about 
London, hungry and footsore, for the rest of 
the day, and at dusk he went back to his 
lodgings, where he was beginning to be looked 
upon rather coldly, and where, one by one, 
the various articles of furniture which he 
could possibly do without had been abstracted, 
to adorn the rooms of other and better-paying 

He crawled slowly up the stairs and opened 
the door of his room, but started back and 
shut it again in confusion, on discovering that 
he had made some odd and unaccountable 

In the morning he had left a bare stretch 
of uncarpeted floor, a small iron bedstead 
with insufficient bedclothes, a rickety wooden 
wash-stand, one broken chair, a table with 
three sound legs, a yard of worn linoleum, 
and his box. 

In the glimpse he caught of the room 
as he opened the door and then hastily shut 
it again on his return home, he had seen a 
smart new carpet of bright colours, handsome 
curtains to match in each of the two windows, 
a b&ss bedstead — to use his own description — 
" fit for a prince," and a bedroom suite of 
dark green wood with copper ornaments. 

There were other beautiful things in the 
room besides, but he had not had time to 
notice them. Even the things he saw were 
but a background in his mind to the pretty 
girl who was flitting about from place to place, 
and who uttered an exclamation of annoyance 
on catching sight of him. 

James Horrocks stood outside the door, 

For the first moment he was inclined to 
fancy he must have made a mistake and got 
into the wrong house. But the sight of the 
well-remembered gap in the banisters re- 
assured him on that heEicL 





Then another explanation occurred lo him. 
Weary of waiting for her rent, his long- 
suffering landlady had turned him out, by 
the simple expedient of letting his room 
" over his head,'" lo the young lady whom he 
had just seen there. 

As these thoughts passed 
through his mind , H or rocks 
was conscious of a succes- 
sion of sounds from \\ ithin 
the room, bum pings and 
drawings, and paltering 
footsteps, as of someone in 
a great hurry. Then, as he 
walked slowly to the head 
of the stairs with the inten- 
tion of going down to 
question his landlady, the 
door behind him was flung 
open, and a bright, girlish 
voice cried :— 


" Yes, miss/' said he, 

And the natural resent- 
ment he had not been able 
to repress faded before the 
girl's sunny smile. In her 
cotton dress and neat bon- 
net, her face flushed with 
exertion, her breath coming 
quickly, she looked, he 
thought, the prettiest 
creature he had ever seen. 

She put her hand lo her 
breast and turned up her 

""Oh, IVe had such a 
time getting your room 
ready!" she panted out. 
" And me so anxious to 
have it all straight before 
you got back ! ?T 

*' M - m - m - my room ! " 
stammered II or rocks. 

She stepped back^ 
beckoning him to come in. 

" Come and see for your- 
self,' T she said, " and don't 
stand up t for I hear you've 
been ill, and you don't look 
much to boast of now. Sit 
down on that sofa, Mr. 
HorrockSj and look what 
else I've brought you/' 

The young man staggered in, pale and 
trembling, and obeyed her as if she had been 
a queen, sinking down on the pretty little 
soft chintz-covered settee that stood at the 


foot of the bed, in front of a table, covered 
with a fine white cloth and spread with 
tempting dishes. 

There was a tongue, there was a meat-pie, 
there were bread, butter, fruit, jelly, and there 


- j it 

were flowers in a vase in the middle. The 

pretty sorceress was smiling at his confusion. 

li We didn't quite know what to bring you 

that vcu'cl like to tempt you to eat/' she said* 




"As -you'd not bcten well, we thought your 
appetite might want tickling, as it were." 

He stared at her, his eyes moist in spite of 

"My appetite!" echoed he. "No; it 
don't want no tempting, miss." 

Indiscreet revelations were on his tongue, 
but he stopped short. He did not want to 
hurt the feelings of the pretty goddess by 
mentioning such ugly things as semi-starva- 
tion to her. 

" You do look ill, though," she said, gently. 
" If I were you, I'd lie up for a bit. Don't you 
be afraid that you'll have to run about looking 
for work any more just yet. You'll be looked 
after, I can tell you, better than ever you 
were in your life." 

" But who's done it all ? " asked Horrocks, 
in a shaking voice. 

The girl put her pretty head on one side 
and laughed knowingly. 

" Can't you guess ? " said she, as she cast 
a merry look round. 

His eyes followed the direction of hers, 
and there, in the farthest corner of the room, 
he espied the very chair, a splendid chair 
covered in morocco, with apparatus for 
adjusting it to any posture, that he had seen 
and admired in Mr. Chadwick's shop that 

" Oh ! " exclaimed Horrocks, overcome 
by this splendid fulfilment of the uphol- 
sterer's promise. " Yes, yes, of course I 
know ! It's Mr. Chadwick ! God bless him ! 
He said as he'd do something for me. But I 
never thought — no, I never dreamt of this ! " 
And he looked round him slowly, as if half 
afraid the beautiful vision might all fade away 
together and leave him to his hard bed and 
his bare boards and his solitude. And then 
there burst from his lips, almost without his 
knowledge, the indictment which had been 
burning within him. " And to think of 
his going and doing all this, when that there 
Duchess wouldn't even see me or answer my 
letter ! " 

The girl stared at him. 

" The Duchess ? " cried she. 

He told her his story, simply, tersely, 
jerking out short sentences, afraid to trust 
himself to long ones. She listened with deep 
attention, meanwhile helping him to slices 
of this and that and encouraging him to eat 
as he talked. But she made no comment or 
interruption, and when he had finished she 
only remarked, somewhat cryptically, that 
it was " the way of the world." 

Horrocks watched her with open admiration 
while she made him some tea with a kettle 

and spirit-lamp which she had brought with 

A question was trembling on his tongue, 
but he scarcely dared to frame it. He wanted 
to ask her who she was, although he guessed 
that she was one of the smart maids of Mr. 
Chadwick's establishment. At the same time, 
it was an odd sort of tantalizing pleasure to be 
waited upon, to be coaxed, to be comforted, 
by a charming girl whose name he did not 
even know. 

At last she said : " Well, now I must be 
going ; for we've got a reception on to-night, 
and I shall be wanted early. But I shall come 
back again to-morrow to see if there's any- 
thing I can do for you, and whether you're 
getting on all right." 

He rose to his feet, shaking so that he was 
scarcely steady on them. 

" Won't you tell me who you are ? " he 
asked, hoarsely, timidly, at last. 

" Oh, I'm Fairy Do-as-she's-bid," laughed 
the girl, in whose eyes there was a kindness, 
a sort of motherliness, that the man who had 
been hungry and lonely and heart-sore for so 
long appreciated to the full. 

"Well, will you tell Mr. Chadwick " 

He stopped, unable to go on. Then he began 
again. " VVill you tell him " 

" Tell him what ? " asked the girl, softly. 

But Horrocks could not go on. He broke 
down suddenly, and, sinking on the settee 
again, burst into tears. 

He felt a warm, light hand on his shoulder. 

" Don't you give way, Mr. Horrocks.- Your 
troubles are about over now, I think. Good- 
bye — good-bye." 

By the second utterance of the word she 
was at the door, and in another moment she 
was gone. 

Horrocks stared at the place where he had 
last seen her, as if he could still conjure up 
her pretty face and figure by thoughts of her. 
He was worn out with delight, with the strain 
of the sudden revulsion of feeling he had gone 
through. And when the landlady came up 
to tell him that his rent had been paid " by 
Miss Frensham, the young lady as brought 
the things," and when he further discovered 
that his fairy had left behind her under a 
plate on the table a purse containing twenty- 
five sovereigns and a plain envelope with his 
name on it, he felt dizzily that he was no 
longer a prosaic human being ; he was living 
through an Arabian Night full of colour and 

Next day he went to Mr. Chadwick's shop, 
but his kind friend would not be thanked ; he 
sent out a message that he was " engaged." 



However, Horrocks was not to be baulked 
of his expressions of gratitude; he wrote a' 
letter, too full of feeling to be strictly gram- 
matical, and posted it to Mr. Chadwick at his 
private address. 

And, with his head full of new dreams, he 
began again to look for work. 

What would one have to make in weekly 
wages in order to be able to keep as wife a 
lovely girl like Miss Frensham as she ought 
to be kept ? That was the question which 
was already agitating his mind ; and, although 
the splendid kindness he had received had 
given him such an impulse towards health 
and strength that he scarcely limped now in 
his search for work, James Horrocks took 
care, when tea-time drew near, and with it 
the hope that the fairy would visit him again, 
to be quite close to his sofa, so that he might 
look enough of an invalid in case she should 
coine to see him. 

She did come. She made joyous comments 
upon her own indiscretion in visiting a gay 
bacfrelor unattended ; but it was plain that 
she felt no qualms, that she was not only able 
to take care of herself, but in no fear of her 

And as she flitted about and chatted to 
him, and spread out on the table the various 
delicacies which she had brought to tempt 
the invalid's appetite, James Horrocks's 
calculations as to the cost of keeping a wife 
— such a wife ! — went on in his head in a 
running undercurrent. 

There was only one woman in the world for 
him ; he had made up his mind to that already. 

She came again land again, always sweet 
and kind and bright ; and James Horrocks 
had to pretend to be weak and sickly long 
after he was so far recovered as to have got a 
situation as coachman. 

Then at once he began cautiously to feel 
his way, insinuating that Miss Frensham had 
sweethearts, throwing out hints as to his 
pressing desire to get " settled," and all the 
while not daring to say or even to look too 

Yet somehow he fancied, when lie was 
thinking over her visits after her departure, 
that she was not quite so innocent as she 
wished to appear, and that she was not 
indisposed to look favourably upon him. 

He was beginning to feel reluctantly enough 
that |t would be impossible to keep up the 
farce of invalidism much longer when one 
afternoon, as he reached his lodgings, he saw 
a carriage he knew standing at the door. He 
threw one glance towards the occupant of the 
landau, and recognized the Duchess. 

Stately as of old, she was exquisitely 
dressed, her silver hair looking splendid -under 
a big black hat, her figure erect, her expression 
reserved as ever. Horrocks saluted her 
coldly, and would have passed into the house, 
but that she sent the footman after him to 
call him to her. 

He stood by the side of the carriage, grave, 
stiff, almost fierce. It was all very well to 
make a pretence of inquiring for him now 
that he wanted help no longer ; but how 
about those days when he might have starved? 

" I'm glad to see that you are looking so 
well, Horrocks, ,, she began, in her dignified 
tones. " I was sorry to hear that you had 
been so unlucky and so ill." 

" Thank you, your Grace. I am quite well 
now, thanks to kind friends who remembered 
me in my troubles," said he, stiffly. 

Proud as she was, he might have his pride 
too — now. 

"I'm delighted to see that you appear to 
have got over them. You have got a situa- 
tion ? " 

" I'm going into it to-morrow, your Grace." 

" And you are quite comfortable ? " 

" Quite, your Grace." And he added, with 
a burst of pride : " I'm going to be married 
soon, I hope." 

To his utter astonishment and consterna- 
tion, a sort of wail broke plaintively from the 
Duchess's lips. 

" Oh, you're not going to take my Frensham 
from me, are you ? " 

Horrocks turned quite white. His head 
seemed to be spinning round. 

" Y-y-y-your Frensham, your Grace ! " 
stammered he. 

A real smile hovered for an instant on the 
Duchess's dignified lips. 

" Yes, my Frensham. The dear girl's been 
with me two years, and I never had such a 
maid before. It will be very hard if you take 
her away from me, Horrocks." 

The young man stared at the Duchess in 
mingled confusion and horror. What was 
this that he had done ? What was the 
ghastly mistake that he had made ? He 
tried to speak, but the words only came in 
sections, hoarse, almost meaningless. 

" Your — maid ! N-n-not Mr. Chadwick's ! 
Oh, Lord ! " 

The Duchess took pity upon him, and leaned 
forward with a kindly smile on her face. 

" You thought worse of me than was quite 
fair, I believe, Horrocks. I didn't get your 
letter at once, as I was not back from the 
Riviera. The footman didn't know your 
name, or you would have been admitted 





when you called. When Frensham told me 
what unkind things you said of me and 
what a mistake you had made, she held her 
tongue until she had seen me, and we decided 
to keep up the little joke. I am very glad 
you liked the things I sent. And I am most 
happy to see you looking so well. You 
won't think hard things of me again, will 
you ? ?? 

She held out her hand graciously, and 
Horrocks touched it with the feeling that he 
was in a dream, Still holding his hand in 
hers for a moment^ the Duchess bent forward 
once more to say :— 

by Google 

" And if you do persuade Frensham to 
marry you — why, the Duke and I will con- 
trive to find something vervj very nice as a 
wedding present ! " 

" God bless your Grace, and f- forgive me 
for all the mistakes I've made/ 1 stammered 
out Horrocks, as he stood back and held his 
hat in his hand as she drove away. 

It was a funny world ! But surely the very 
funniest thing of all in it was to find that the 
genial upholsterer had played him false, and 
that it was the Duchess, whom he had offended 
so deeply, who had turned out to be the right 
sort after al! ! 

Original from 


What Reform 

is Most Needed? 

* r 

A Symposium of Eminent Men and Women. 

OT long ago at a political meet- 
ing someone in the audience 
asked a well-known politician 
what he would do if he were 
given absolute power. His 
reply was : (i I would put 
an extra loaf in every poor 
man's bread-basket every morning/' Hut 
this did not meet the approval of at least 
one of his hearers, who jumped to his feet 
and exclaimed, " Well, as for mej I would 
provide a job of work for every man that 
has not got it." All this is, of course, only a 
variation of Mr. Jesse Collings's wish of forty 
years ago — " If I were an absolute despot, I 
would see that every man in the kingdom had 
three acres of land, a cottage , and a cow," 

What would you do if you were King w r ith 
unlimited power ? Not power to frame a 
measure and introduce it into the House of 
Commons, and argue it to the assembled 
legislators and modify it clause by clause m 
Committee, and finally see it, maimed and 
disfigured, qualified out of all recognition, 
placed obscurely on the Statute-book; but 
power of a kind to effect it instantly and 
carry it to-morrow into execution. 

What is your idea of an urgent special 
reform ? What is it that Englishmen demand 
at once to make them happy ? What is the 
most crying abuse of the age ? Readers of 
newspapers in general become so confused 
with the various agitations brought daily to 
their notice that they arc unable to estimate 
their relative importance. The Strand 
Magazine recently addressed a number of 
representative public men, putting to them 
this question: "Of all the pressing reforms 
of this present reign of His Majesty George V., 
what single one would you choose for instant 
consummation if you were given the power, 
and why would you choose it ? Jl 

The field of selection is a wide one. The 
world is full of pain T suffering, hunger, and 
hardships; crime and disease meet the eye 
of every man as he walks abroad. Cannot 
the reader see the eager look on the faces of 
millions of unfortunate beings bent upon the 

figure of the man who, crowned w + ith supreme 
power, could , by a gesture of his hand, turn 
their woes into happiness ? 

Alas, it may be said at the outset the suffer- 
ing millions would expect too much, As one 
distinguished statesman, who begs that his 
name may not be quoted, writes: "The 
reform must be practical before all things, 
and the passage of any single measure such 
as you suggest would probably make very 
little difference to the lives of the people." 
A hundred might, spread over ascore of years, 
but not a single one. 

Mr, Andrew Carnegie. 

" What do I think the greatest reform of 
the present day ? " asks Mr. Andrew Carnegie. 
11 What single act would I select for instant 
consummation if I had the power ? I would 
enact the abolition of war. I would abolish 
w ? ar between nations, which belies our claims 
to civilization. As long as men kill each 


other they are savages." Think of what a 
tremendous act this would be ; and of what 
far-reaching significance, A decree would 
be signed disbanding the British Army, dis- 
manntqg. the Navy, and putting ships, guns, 
and weapons on a scrap-heap. It is certainly 




difficult to conceive of a more sweeping 
reform than this, but if it were brought about 
by a stroke of the pen it would probably 
throw a million men into idleness, and 
disorganize irreparably the whole machinery 
of civilization. 

Lord Avebury. 
Far more modest would be the exercise 


of Lord Ave bury *s power in his capacity of 
omnipotent despot. He would merely adjust 
the rights of the British voter, " I would 
pass a measure of proportional re presenta- 
tion j which would secure not a merely elective, 
but a really representative House of Commons, 
and would prevent measures being passed 
to which the majority of the electors are 

Dr. Andrew Wilson. 

11 I suppose," writes Dr, Andrew Wilson, 
*' the real attitude of anyone who seeks to 
reply to the question asked would be that of 
the man who says, * If 1 were King ! J We 
move very slowly in the matter of reforms, 
and even reasonable souls grow impatient 
when they see much-needed measures either 
rejected or hindered in their course of being 
placed on the Statute-book* There may be 
a great occasional gain in the work of an 
amiable despot, who. seeing an injustice or a 
great need on the part of his people, can 
remedy things by a stroke of his pen. For 
my part, I have longed for years — and I have 
said so in my lectures and declared this 
opinion in my writings— to be able to say 
that a great health measure should be passedj 

whereby every boy and fdrl would be taught 
the laws and practice of health -science before 
leaving school. In this way we should pre- 
pare each generation to play its part in the 
prevention of disease and in the prolongation 
and betterment of life. We should bend the 
educational twig, and thus incline the proper 
growth of the adult tree. If a sturdy, robust 
nation is to be desired, then we must begin 
with the children, and, repressing a vast deal 
of useless subjects at present taught, make 
way for instruction in health laws. Such a 
measure, among other benefits conferred, 
would fit the future mothers for the proper 
feeding and upbringing of infants, and save a 
tremendous mortality among the young. 
Salus populi suprema lex. This is an excellent 
all-round motto ; and the first line of national 
safety and success is that of making the people 
healthy from birth. Such a law I would pass 
to-morrow l if I were King ! T " 

Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. 

If Sir Arthur Conan Doyle were given 
supreme power, a power as great as both 
Houses of Parliament, for a single day, he 



would exercise it in the direction of the 
reform of the divorce laws. " The divorcr 
laws/ he writes, " are so arranged at present 
that divorce is practically impossible for a 
poor man, that people are tied without hope 
of release to lunatics, drunkards, and crimi- 
nals, and great numbers (more than two 
hundred thousand individuals) are separated 
by law% and yet are not free to marry again— 
a fact which cannot be conducive to public 




Mr. Eus'ace Miles 

w You ask what single public measure I 
would chose if I had the power* It would 
be/ 1 writes Mr, Eustace Miles, " the sensible 
education of children in respect of health 


and play* This would include simple and 
practical teaching about deep and full breath- 
ing through the nostrils, cleanliness (in the 
widest sense ©f the word), food values, 
cookery, etc." In other words, Mr* Miles 
would make a law by which every child in 
the kingdom should be made to practise 
hygiene. One can imagine at our public 
schools that the following colloquy between 
master and pupil would take place: ** Have 
you finished your breathing lesson, Thomp- 
son ? Ii not ? you can double your course 
of Plasm on analysis after school hours " ; or 
twenty minutes' extra handkerchief practice 
would be a prescribed punishment. This 
measure would unquestionably bring about 
a great change in the health as well as in the 
scholastic curriculum of the British nation. 

Mrs. Pankhurst. 

Although popularly associated with one 
single agitation, Mrs. Pankhurst has spent a 
lifetime in considering social reforms, and 
she is convinced that the one most urgent 
reform of the age is female suffrage. If 
she were omnipotent enough to pass this 
measure, she would not be obliged to give any 
reasons for it, but she does so now beforehand 
as follows : H (1) It is unjust, injurious, and 
intolerable that sex should be a disqualifica- 
tion for citizenship; (2)VVomen need the means 

by which reforms in thr interest of their sex 
can be constitutionally obtained; and (3) 
The nation suffers as a whole by being 
deprived of the responsible help of women in 

Mr. Israel Zangwill. 

Place a crown on Mr. Israel Zangwill J s her.d 
and put a sceptre in his hand, and would he 
decree the instant return of the Jews to 
prosperous Palestine ? Would he bring 
health and wealth to the denizens of the 
Ghetto ? Not at all. *' The public measure 


he writes f " which 1 would select as being 
most urgently needed is female suffrage, for 
the very simple reason that it concerns half 

Mr. Justin McCarthy. 

Naturally Mr. Justin McCarthy has no 
doubt whatc% T cr as to the one great desidera- 
tum of the age, because if it were brought 
about it would react not only upon the one 
country immediately concerned, but upon 
England and, indeed , upon the whole civilized 
world. " I can have no hesitation whatever 
in saying that if it were in my power to lend 
prompt and effective help to the passing of any 
public measure in these countries, it should be 
to the passing of the Home Rule policy to 
confer self-government on my native and 
ever-loved country, Ireland, I do so because 
of my conviction that by the means of self- 
government, and by that means only, can 
Ireland ever be restored to national prosperity, 
progress, and self-respect. Other measures of 
reform may bring increased ancj increasing 




prosperity to other branches of national 
interest, comfort and happiness m England, 
Scotland, and Wales ; but I do not know, 



and cannot at present conceive, of any single 
measure which could bring such promise of 
restored prosperity and happiness as Home 
Rule must bring 1o Ireland. ,J 

Sir Felix Schuster- 
Sir Felix Schuster is a big financier and 
one of the great powers of the City. One 
wonders what such an eminent man would 


do for a single day if he were given the right 
to stamp his will upon the Statute-book. He, 
too, has elicited our surprise. He would 
not acquit himself of anything extravagant. 

he would not double any man's pay, he would 
not empty the jails or the workhouses, he 
would not establish a national theatre or give 
free dinners to the workless ; Sir Fchx would 
merely sign his name to a decree adjusting 
the voting system of the male part of the 
community, " What would I do ? 1 would 
pass proportional representation. It is 
generally admitted that the House of Commons 
as at present constituted does not correctly 
represent the opinions of the electorate, and 
if the Second Chamber is to be endowed with 
greater legislative authority it is all the more 
important that the will of the people should 
he faithfully reflected in its majorities," 

Sir William Bull, MP. 

" I consider the most important reform of 
the age," writes Sir William Bull, M.P., " is 
that we should follow the example of Joseph 




in Egypt by maintaining a permanent food 
reserve within the British Isles. T select 
this specific measure because 1 am convinced 
that under the terms of the Declaration of 
London, to which the representatives of the 
Radical Government* in theory the trustees 
for the security and welfare of the British 
Empire, have affixed their seals, the food 
supply of the British Isles will be greatly 
imperilled in time ol war. When the general 
public knows that at least eighty per cent, 
of the breadstuffs and fifty-five per cent, of 
the meat consumed in these islands is imported, 
and that at times there is barely a six-weeks 1 
supply of food in Great Britain, then it will 
realize as I do the gravity of the situation, 



which, in my opinion t has been needlessly 
aggravated by the frenzied party spirit in 
which the Declaration of London, a national 
and not a party question, has been rushed 
through Parliament in the teeth of over- 
whelming and unanswerable argument to the 
effect that the said Declaration gravely 
endangered the food supply of the country in 
time of war — or, as Mr, Balfour put it, intro- 
duced the problem of starvation rather than 

Mr. W. J, Locke. 

The politicians at St. Stephen's might well 
tremble if Mr. \V, J, Locke were for u single 
hour made the autocrat of Great Britain and 
Ireland, "What would I do if I had the 
power to pass only one single measure ? I 


would abolish the House of Commons/' It 
is not necessary for the great novelist to give 
any reasons for this drastic action, but he 
does. tl The reason is obvious to the dullest 
member of the House of Lords/' 

Lady Constance Lytton, 

To Lady Constance Lytton, as to others, 
there is only one crying need of the age, and 
that is the (t recognition of women as human 
beings/' If the forty-eight millions of people 
in these islands would only give Lady Con- 
stance the right to enact one measure for 
their benefit, the fair sex might give an 
instant order for several thousand, not 
bonnet-boxes, but ballot-boxes. (i I consider,' * 
she writes, " the reform most urgently needed 
is the recognition of women as human beings, 
equal though not similar to men, and for the 

reason that artificial restrictions imposed 
upon one half of the race result in harm to 
both men and women, and injure the develop- 
ment of future generations. In England the 
immediate next step towards this reform is 
the removal of sex-disability with regard to 
the Parliamentary vote, voting rights being 
the very foundation of government and of 
national well-being in the estimation of the 
British race* Moreover, in matters of govern- 
ment England sets the pace to the civilized 
world. The public measure, therefore, which 
I should select for instant consummation, as 
containing the seed of the most widely 
influential benefit, would be a political measure 
for ending the present total exclusion of women 
from the Parliamentary franchise, in whatever 
form is best adapted to receive the majority- 
consent of the present electorate, as expressed 
by their representatives in Parliament/' 

Sir Gilbert Parker, M.R 

Another politician is Sir Gilbert Parker, 
M.P.j whose works testify to his sympathy 
and his imagination. What would he do if 
he were a king of the old stamp ? He does 
not hesitate to tell us. Differing from Mr- 

sir (;ii.iii-:uT i'akki-:k would teach hviirv nov 


Carnegie , who would have every man lay- 
down his rifle for ever, the author of " The 
Seats of the Mighty " would put a rifie into 
the hands of every boy. " If I had the power, 
I would enact National Service/' he writes ; 
" that is, the training of every boy before he 
enters upon the battle of life, or at the 
beginning of that battle, to bear arms in 
defence of his country, with its consequent 
physical and moral advantages/ 1 




Mr Chichele Plowden. 

But suppose tt was not the politician, but 
the justiciar, who was crowned with supreme 
authority, such a one, for example, as Mr. 
Chichele Plowden, Mr. Plowden does not 
hesitate , but he would seize a pen and, by a 
single stroke, reform our marriage laws. 
1 There is," he writes, " no social need at the 
present time more pressing than a reform of 


our marriage laws. I select marriage because 
more than any other institution it affects the 
happiness, the health, and the morals of the 
community— at least, so it seems to me." 

Mr. G. K. Chesterton, 

The reform which appeals most to Mr. 
G. K, Chesterton is that of the present 
imperfect law of libel. " There are hundreds 
of huge abuses that other people want to pull 
down, but whenever we try to do it we find 
it involves saying that the powerful Perkins 
has done wrong, or that the wealthy Wilkins 
is really responsible. The very creators and 
sustainers of the abuse can always purchase 
the best power of the Bar, and can generally 
appeal to a social prejudice on the Bench. 
But the cleverest barrister or the stupidest 
judge would not go against the law if the law 
were clear* It is because the law of libel 
is hopelessly confused that all public-spirited 
criticism has practically become impossible. 
You dare not put the biggest offender in the 
dock for corruption or tyranny, for fear he 
should put you in the dock for libel. In 
short, I have come back to the old unanswer- 



by Google 

able truism that a nation will have nothing 
else if it does not have liberty/ 1 

Mr. William Willett. 

And, lastly /there is much of sweet reason- 
ableness in the argument of Mr. William 
Willett, the promoter of the " Daylight Saving 
Bill," who only asks that he may be made 
an irresistible autocrat for an hour in order 
that he may bestow the boon of light upon 
the people. " More light," would cry this 
benevolent reformer- " My reasons are — 
Light is one of the greatest gifts of the Creator 
to man. While daylight surrounds us, cheer- 
fulness reigns, anxieties press less heavily, and 
courage is bred for the struggle of life. Against 
our ever-besieging enemy, disease, light and 
fresh air act as guards in our defence and, 
when the conflict is close, supply us with the 
most effective weapons with which to over- 
come the invader. For women, inhaling con- 
taminated air and dust, it is a great misfor- 
tune that even on the longest day in summer 
they now have such a short period of leisure 
before sunset. There are over four million 
occupied females in England and Wales on 
whom the effect of one hour more of sunlight 
daily for one hundred and fifty-four days 
must lead to an improvement in health. Then 
among the financial results of the Bill will 
be a saving to the nation of at least two 
million five hundred thousand pounds a year 
(enough to pay the interest on the cost of 
forty Dreadnoughts) and an appreciation of 
railway, tramway, and omnibus stocks by 
several millions of pounds sterling." 


Helping Freddie 


Illustrated ty H. M. Brock, R.I. 

% I 

DON T want to bore you, don't 
you know, and all that sort 
of rot, but I must tell you 
about dear old Freddie 
Meadowes. I'm not a flier 
at literary style, and all 
that, but I'll get some writer 
chappie to give the thing a wash and brush 
up when I've finished, so that'll be all right. 

Dear old Freddie, don't you know, has been 
a dear old pal of mipe for years and years ; so 
when I went into the club one morning and 
found him sitting alone in a dark corner, 
staring glassily at nothing, and generally 
looking like the last rose of summer, you can 
understand I was quite disturbed about it. 
As a rule, the old rotter is the life and soul of 
our set. Quite the little lump of fun, and all 
that sort of thing. 

Jimmy Pinkerton was with me at the time. 
Jimmy's a fellow who writes plays ; a 
deuced brainy sort of fellow. My name's 
Pepper, by the way — Reggie Pepper. My 
uncle Edward was Pepper, Wells, and Co., 
the colliery people. When he died he left 
me a pretty decent bit of money. Well, as 
I was saying, Jimmy was with me, and 
between us we set to work to question the 
poor pop-eyed chappie, until finally we got 
at what the matter was. 

As we might have guessed, it was a girl. 
He had had a quarrel with Angela West, the 
girl he was engaged to, and she had broken 
off the engagement. What the row had been 
about he didn't say, but apparently she was 
pretty well fed up. She wouldn't let him 
come near her, refused to talk on the 'phone, 
and sent back his letters unopened. 

I was sorry for poor old Freddie. I knew 
what it felt like. I was once in love myself 
with a girl called Elizabeth Shoolbred, and 
the fact that she couldn't stand me at any 
price will be recorded in my autobiography. 
I knew the thing for Freddie. 

" Change of scene is what you want, old 
scout," I said. " Come with me to Marvis 
Bay. I've taken a cottage there. Jimmy's 
coming down on the twenty-fourth. We'll 
be a cosy party." 

" He's absolutely right," said Jimmy. 
" Change of scene's the thing. I knew a man. 

Girl refused him. Man went abroad. Two 
months later girl wired him, * Come back. 
Muriel.' Man started to write out a reply ; 
suddenly found that he couldn't remember 
girl's surname ; so never answered at all." 

But Freddie wouldn't be comforted. He 
just went on looking as if he had swallowed 
his last sixpence. However, I got him to 
promise to come to Marvis Bay with me. He 
said he might as well be there as anywhere. 

Do you know Marvis Bay ? It's in Dorset- 
shire. It isn't what you'd call a fiercely- 
exciting spot, but it has its good points. You 
spend the day there bathing and sitting on the 
sands, and in the evening you stroll out on 
the shore with the gnats. At nine o'clock you 
rub ointment on the wounds and go to bed. 

It seemed to suit poor old Freddie. Once 
the moon was up and the breeze sighing in 
the trees, you couldn't drag him from that 
beach with a rope. He became quite a 
popular pet with the , gnats. They'd hang 
round waiting for him to come out, and would 
give perfectly good strollers the miss-in-baulk 
just so as to be in good condition for him. 

Yes, it was a peaceful sort of life, but by 
the end of the first week I began to wish that 
Jimmy Pinkerton had arranged to come down 
earlier ; for as a companion Freddie, poor 
old chap, wasn't anything to write home to 
mother about. When he wasn't chewing 
a pipe and scowling at the carpet, he was 
sitting at the piano, playing " The Rosary " 
with one finger. He couldn't play anything 
except " The Rosary," and he couldn't play 
much of that. Somewhere round about the 
third bar a fuse would blow out, and he'd 
have to start all over again. 

He was playing it as usual one morning 
when I came in from bathing. 

" Reggie," he said, in a hollow voice, looking 
up, " I've seen her." 

"Seen her?" I said. " What, Miss 
West ? " 

" I was down at the post-office, getting the 
letters, and we met in the doorway. She 
cut me ! " 

He started " The Rosary " again, and side- 
slipped in the second bar. 

" Reggie," he said, " you ought never to 
have brought m* here. I must go away." 





w Go away ? " I said. " Don't talk such 
rot. This is the best thing that could have 
happened. This is where you come out 
strong. 5 ' 

" She cut me." 

IC Never mind. Be a sportsman Have 
another dash at her." 

" She looked clean through me ! " 

li Of course she did. But don't mind that. 
Put this thing in my hands* 1*11 see you 
through. Now, what you want/' I said, 
" is to place her under some obligation to you. 
What you want is to get her timidly thanking 
yiM t What you want n 

"But what's she going to thank me timidlv 

for ? - 

I thought for a moment. 
" Look out far a chance and save her from 
drowning," I said, 

" I can't swim T " said Freddie. 
That was Freddie all over, don't you know. 
A dear old chap in a thousand ways, but no 
help to a fellow, if you know what I mean. 

He cranked up the piano once more and 
I sprinted for the open. 

1 strolled out on to the sands and began ic 
think this thing over. There was no doubt 
that the brain -work had got to be done by 
me. Dear old Freddie had his strong 
qualities. He was top-hole at polo ; and in 
happier days I've heard him give an imitation 
of cats lighting in a back-yard that would 
have surprised you. But apart from that 
he wasn't a man of enterprise. 

Well, don't you know, I was rounding some 
rocks, with my brain 
whirring like a dynamo, 
when I caught sight of 
a blue dress, and, by 
Jove, it was the girl. 
I had never met her, 
but Freddie had six- 
teen photographs of 
her sprinkled round his 
bedroom, and I knew 
I couldn't be mistaken. 
She was sitting on the 
sand, helping a small, 
fat child build a castle. 
On a chair close by was 
an elderly lady reading 
a novel. I heard the 
girl call her " aunt/* 
So, doing the Sherlock 
Holmes business, I 
deduced that the fat 
child was her cousin. 
It struck me that if 
Freddie had been there 
he would probably have 
tried to work up some 
sentiment about the kid 
on the strength of it. 
Personally I couldn't 
manage it, I don't 
think I ever saw a child 
who made me feel lets 
sentimental. He was 
one of those round, bulging kids. 

After he had finished the castle he seemed 
to get bored with life, and began to whimper. 
The girl took him off to where a fellow was 
selling sweets at a stall. And I walked on. 

Nowj fellows, if you ask them, will tell you 
that I'm a chump. Well, I don't mind. 


Fl*yir^ Tk* 'Rosary 




I admit it I am a chump. All the Peppers 
have been chumps. But what I do say is 
that every now and then, when you'd least 
expect it, I get a pretty hot brain-wave : and 
that's what happened now, I doubt if the 
idea that came to me then would have occurred 
to a single one of any dozen of the brainiest 
chappies you care to name. 

It came to me on my return journey. I 
was walking back along the share, when I saw 
the fat kid meditatively smacking a jelly-fish 

know, that, by George, it gave me quite a 
choky feeling in my throat. 

Freddie t dear old chap^ was rather slow at 
getting on to the fine points of the idea. 
When I appeared, carrying the kid 3 and 
dumped him down in our sitting-room, he 
didn't absolutely effervesce with joy, if you 
know what I mean- The kid had started 

Helping * ^m*ll,fat ckiU 
but Id a canftle 

■ j - 


with a spade. The girl wasn't with him. 
In factj there didn't seem to be anyone in 
sight, I was just going to pass on when 1 
got the brain-wave. I thought the whole 
thing out in a flash, don't you know. From 
what I had seen of the two, the girl was evi- 
dently fond of this kid, and, anyhow, he was 
her cousin, so what I said to myself was 
this : If I kidnap this young heavy-weight 
for the moment, and if, when the girl has got 
frightfully anxious about where he can have 
got to, dear old Freddie suddenly appears 
leading the infant by the hand and telling a 
story to the effect that he has found him 
wandering at large about the country and 
practically saved his life, why, the girl's 
gratitude is bound to make her chuck hos- 
tilities and he friends again. So I gathered 
in the kid and made off with him. All the 
way home 1 pictured that scene of reconcilia- 
tion. I could see it so vividly, don't you 

to bellow by this time, and poor old Freddie 
seemed to find it rather trying, 

u Stop it ! 5> he said. " * l Do you think 
nobody's got any troubles except you ? 
What the deuce is all this, Reggie ? " 

The kid came back at him with a yell that 
made the window rattle. I raced to the 
kitchen and fetched a jat of honey. It was 
the right stuff. The kid stopped bellowing 
and be^an to smear his face with the stuff. 

* L Well ? " said Freddie, when silence had 
set in + 

I explained the idea. After a while it 
began to strike him, 

" You're not such a fool as you look, some- 
times, Reggie," he said, handsomely. "I'm 
bound to say this seems pretty good." 
* And he disentangled the kid from the honey- 
jar and took him out, to scour the beach for 

I doPt'ftlft4te?i I've felt so happy. I 




was so fond of dear old Freddie that to know 
that he was so soon going to be his old bright 
self again made me feel as if somebody had 
left me about a million pounds. I was lean- 
ing back in a chair on the veranda, smoking 
peacefully, when down the road I saw the old 
boy returning, and, by George, the kid was 
still with him. And Freddie looked as if 
he hadn't a friend in the world. 

" Hello ! " I said. "Couldn't you find her ? " 

" Yes, I found her," he replied, with one 
of these bitter, hollow laughs. 

« Well, then—— ? " 

Freddie sank into a chair and groaned. 

" This isn't her cousin, you idiot ! " he 
said. " He's no relation at all. He's just 
a kid she happened to meet on the beach. 
She had never seen him before in her life." 

" What ! Who is he, then ? " 

" I don't know. Oh, Lord, I've had a 
time ! Thank goodness you'll probably spend 
the next few years of your life in Dartmoor 
for kidnapping. That's my only consolation. 
I'll come and jeer at you through the bars." 

" Tell me all, old boy," I said. 

It took him a good long time to tell the 
story, for he broke off in the middle of 
nearly every sentence to call me names, but 
I gathered gradually what had happened. 
She had listened like an iceberg while he told 
the story he had prepared, and then — well, 
she didn't actually call him a liar, but she 
gave him to understand in a general sort of 
way that if he and Dr. Cook ever happened 
to meet, and started swapping stories, it 
would be about the biggest duel on record. 
And then he had crawled away with the kid, 
licked to a splinter. 

" And mind, this is your affair," he con- 
cluded. " I'm not mixed up in it at all. If 
you want to escape your sentence, you'd 
better go and find the kid's parents and 
return him before the police come for you." 

By Jove, you know, till I started to tramp 
the place with this "infernal kid, I never had 
a notion it would have been so deuced 
difficult to restore a child to its anxious 
parents. It's a mystery to me how kid- 
nappers ever get caught. I searched Marvis 
Bay like a bloodhound, but nobody came 
forward to claim the infant. You'd have 
thought, from the lack of interest in him, 
that he was stopping there all by himself in 
a cottage of his own. It wasn't till, by an 
inspiration, I thought to ask the sweet-stall- 
man that I found out that his name was 
Medwin, and that his parents lived at a 
place called Ocean Rest, in Beach Road. 

I shot off there like an arrow and knocked 
at the door. Nobody answered. I knocked 
again. I could hear movements inside, but 
nobody came. I was just going to get to 
work on that knocker in such a way that the 
idea would filter through into these people's 
heads that I wasn't standing there just for 
the fun of the thing, when a voice from some- 
where above shouted, " Hi ! " 

I looked up and saw a round, pink face, 
with grey whiskers east and west of it, 
staring down from an upper window. 

" Hi ! " it shouted again. 

" What the deuce do you mean by ' Hi ' ? " 
I said. 

" You can't come in," said the face. 
" Hello, is that Tootles ? " 

" My name is not Tootles, and I don't want 
to come in," I said. " Are you Mr. Medwin ? 
I've brought back your son." 

"I see him. Peep-bo, Tootles ! Dadda 
can see 'oo ! " 

The face disappeared with a jerk. I could 
hear voices. The face reappeared. 

" Hi ! " 

I churned the gravel madly. 

" Do you live here ? " said the face. 

" I'm staying here for a few weeks." 

" What's your name ? " 

" Pepper. But " 

" Pepper ? Any relation to Edward Pepper, 
the colliery owner ? " 

" My uncle. But " 

" I used to know him well. Dear old 
Edward Pepper ! I wish I was with him now." 

" I wish you were," I said. 

He beamed down at me. 

" This is most fortunate," he said. " We 
were wondering what we were to do with 
Tootles.- You see, we have the mumps here. 
My daughter Booties has just developed 
mumps. Tootles must not be exposed to 
the risk of infection. We could not think 
what we were to do with him. It was most 
fortunate your finding him. He strayed from 
his nurse. I would hesitate to trust him to 
the care of a stranger, but you are different. 
Any nephew of Edward Pepper's has my 
implicit confidence. You must take Tootles 
to your house. It will be an ideal arrange- 
ment. I have written to my brother in 
London to come and fetch him. He may be 
here in a few days." 


"He is a busy man, of course ; but he 
should certainly be here within a week. Till 
then Tootles can stop with you. It is an 
excellent plan. Very much obliged to you. 
Your wife will like Tootles." 




" I haven't got a wife/' 

I yelled ; but the window 
had closed with a bang, as 
if the man with the 
whiskers had found a germ 
trying to escape, don't you 
know, and had headed it 
off just in time. 

I breathed a deep breath 
and wiped my forehead. 

The window flew up 

" Hi ! " 

A package weighing 
about a ton hit me on the 
head and burst like a 

" Did you catch it ? " 
said the face, reappearing, 

II Dear me, you missed it! 
Never mind. You can 
get it at the grocers. 
Ask for Bailey's Granu- 
lated Breakfast Chips, 
Tootles takes them for 
breakfast with a little 
milk. Be certain to 
get Bailey's/' 

My spirit was broken, 
if you know what I 
mean. I accepted the 
situation. Taking 
Tootles by the hand, 
I walked slowly away. 
Napoleon's retreat 
from Moscow was a 
picnic by the side of it. 

As we turned up the 
road w ~ met Freddie's 

The sight of her had 
a marked effect on the 
kid Tootles. H e 
pointed at her and 
said, "Wah!" 

The girl stopped and 
snrled. I loosed the 
kid, and he ran to her. 

"Well, baby?" she 
said j bending down to 
him* " So father found 
you again, did he ? 
Your little son and I 
made friends on the 
beach this morning/' 
she said to me, 

This was the limit. 
Coming on top of that 
interview with the 


^■^^■hm j^ MW^ m, i <K} 


whiskered lunatic it so utterly 
unnerved me, don't you know 3 
that she had nodded good-bye 
and was half - way down the 
road before I caught up with 
my breath enough to deny the 
charge of being the infant's 

I hadn't expected dear old 
Freddie to sing with joy when 
he found out what had hap- 
pened, but I did think he 
might have showed a little 
more manly fortitude. He 
leaped up, glared at the kid, 
and clutched his head. He 
didn't speak for a long time, 
but, on the other hand, when 
he began he did not leave off 
for a long time, He was 
quite emotional, dear 
old boy. It beat me 
where he could have 
picked up such expres- 

t( Well," he said, when 
he had finished, i+ say 
something ! Heavens ! 
man, why don't you say 
something ? M 

* You don't give me 
a chance, old top/ 1 I 
said, soothingly, 

" What are 
you going to 
do about it ? t5 
" What can 
we do about 
it? M 

"We can't 
spend our 
time acting as 
nurses to this 
— t his ex- 

He got up, 
" I'm going 
back to 
London/' he 

I cried, 
li Freddie , old 
man ! " My 
voice shook. 
(i Would you 
desert a pal at 
a time like 
this ? " 



" I would. This is your business, and 
you've got to manage it." 

" Freddie/' I said, " you've got to stand 
by me. You must. Do you realize that 
this child has to be undressed, and bathed, 
and dressed again ? You wouldn't leave me 
to do all that single-handed ? Freddie, old 
scout, we were at school together. Your 
mother likes me. You owe me a tenner." 

He sat down again. 

" Oh, well," he said, resignedly. 

" Besides, old top," I said, " I did it all for 
your sake, don't you know ? " 

He looked at me in a curious way. 

" Reggie," he said, in a strained voice, 
" one moment. I'll stand a good deal, but 
I won't stand for being expected to be 

Looking back at it, I see that what saved 
me from Colney Hatch in that crisis was my 
bright idea of buying up most of the contents 
of the local sweet-shop. By serving out 
sweets to the kid practically incessantly we 
managed to get through the rest of that day 
pretty satisfactorily. At eight o'clock he 
fell asleep in a chair, and, having undressed 
him by unbuttoning every button in sight 
and, where there were no buttons, pulling 
till something gave, we carried him up to bed. 

Freddie stood looking at the pile of clothes 
on the floor, and I knew what he was think- 
ing. To get the kid undressed had been 
simple — a mere matter of muscle. But how 
were we to get him into his clothes again ? 
I stirred the pile with my foot. There was 
• a long linen arrangement which might have 
been anything. Also a strip of pink flannel 
whioh was like nothing on earth. We looked 
at each other and smiled wanly. 

But in the morning I remembered that 
there were children at the next bungalow but 
one. We went there before breakfast and 
borrowed their nurse. Women are wonder- 
ful, by George they are ! She had that kid 
dressed and looking fit for anything in about 
eight minutes. I showered wealth on her, 
and she promised to come in morning and 
evening. I sat down to breakfast almost 
* cheerful again. It was the first bit of silver 
lining there had been to the cloud up to date. 

" And after all," I said, " there's lots to 
be said for having a child about the house, if 
you know what I mean. Kind of cosy and 
domestic — what ? " 

Just then the kid upset the milk over 
Freddie's trousers, and when he had come 
back after changing his clothes he began to 
talk about what a much-maligned man King 
Herod was. The more he saw of Tootles, 

he said, the less he wondered at those impul- 
sive views of his on infanticide. 

Two days later Jimmy Pinkerton came 
down. Jimmy took one look at the kid, 
who happened to be howling at the moment, 
and picked up his portmanteau. 

" For me," he said, " the hotel. I can't 
write dialogue with that sort of thing going 
on. Whose work is this ? Which of you 
adopted this little treasure ? " 

I told him about Mr. Medwin and the 
mumps. Jimmy seemed interested. 

" I might work this up for the stage," he 
said. " It wouldn't make a bad situation 
for act two of a farce." 

" Farce ! " snarled poor old Freddie. 

" Rather. Curtain of act one on hero, a 
well-meaning, half-baked sort of idiot just 
like — that is to say, a well-meaning, half- 
baked sort of idiot, kidnapping the child. 
Second act, his adventures with it. I'll 
rough it out to-night. Come along and show 
me the hotel, Reggie." 

As we went I told him the rest of the story, 
the Angela part. He laid down his port- 
manteau and looked at me like an owl through 
his glasses. 

" What ! " he said. " Why, hang it, this 
is a play, ready-made. It's the old ' Tiny 
Hand ' business. Always safe stuff. Parted 
lovers. Lisping child. Reconciliation over 
the little cradle. It's big. Child, centre. 
Girl L.C.; Freddie, up stage, by the piano. 
Can Freddie play the piano ? " 

" He can play a little of * The Rosary ' with 
one finger." 

Jimmy shook his head. 

" No ; we shall have to cut out the soft 
music. But the rest's all right. Look here." 
He squatted in the sand. " This stone is the 
girl. This bit of seaweed's the child. This 
nutshell is Freddie. Dialogue leading up to 
child's line. Child speaks like, ' Boofer 
lady, does 'oo love dadda ? ' Business of 
outstretched hands. Hold picture for a 
moment. Freddie crosses L., takes girl's 
hand. Business of swallowing lump in throat. 
Then big speech. ' Ah, Marie/ or whatever 
her name is — Jane — Agnes — Angela ? Very 
well. ' Ah, Angela, has not this gone on too 
long ? A little child rebukes us ! Angela ! ' 
And so on. Freddie must work up his own 
part. I'm just giving you the general outline. 
And we must get a good line for the child. 
( Boofer lady, does 'oo love dadda ? ' isn't 
definite enough. We want something more — 
ah ! * Kiss Freddie,' that's it. Short, crisp, 
and has the punch." 

" But, Jimmy, old top," I said, " the only 




l/r\dr^ *r*r« d Kim oy unlouttonini 

objection is, don't you know, that there's no 
way of getting the girl to the cottage. She 
cuts Freddie. She wouldn't come within a 
mile of him." 

Jimmv frowned. 

u That's awkward," he said. u Well, we 
shall have to make it an exterior set instead 
of an interior. We can easily corner her on 
the beach somewhere, when we're ready. 
Meanwhile, we must get the kid letter-perfect. 
First rehearsal for lines and business eleven 
sharp to-morrow." 

Poor old Freddie was in such a gloomy 
state of mind that we decided not to tell him 
the idea till we had finished coaching the kid. 
He wasn't m the mood to have a thing like 
that hanging over him. So we concentrated 
on Tootles* And pretty early in the proceed- 
ings we saw that the only way to get Tootles 
vorked up to the spirit of the thing was to 
introduce sweets of some sort as a sub- 
motive, so to speak. 

11 The chief difficulty," said Jimmy Pinker- 
ton, at the end of the first rehearsal, li is to 
establish a connection in the kid's mind 
between his line and the sweets. Once he has 
grasped the basic fact that those two words, 
clearly spoken, result automatically in acid- 
drops, we have got a success." 

Pve often thought, don't you know, how 
interesting it must be to be one of those 

animal-trainer Johnnies : to stimulate the 
dawning intelligence, and that sort of thing. 
Well, this was every bit as exciting. Some 
days success seemed to be staring us in the eye, 
and the kid got the line out as if he'd been an 
old professional. And then he'd go all to 
pieces again. And time was flying. 

41 We must hurry up, Jimmy/' I said, 
16 The kid's uncle may arrive any day now 
and take him away," 

u And we haven't an understudy," said 
Jimmy. il There's something in that. We 
must work ! My goodness^ that kid's a bad 
study, I've known deaf-mutes who would 
have learned the part quicker," 

I will say this for the kid, though : he was 
a trier. Failure didn't discourage him. 
Whenever there was any kind of sweet near 
he had a dash at his line, and kept on saying 
something till he got what he was after. His 
only fault was his uncertainty. Personally, 
I would have been prepared t© risk it, and 




start the performance at the first opportunity, 
but Jimmy said no. 

" We're not nearly ready ," said Jimmy, 
" To-day, for instance, he said * Kick Freddie.' 
That's not going to win any girl's heart. And 
she might do it, too. No ; we must postpone 
production awhile yet." 

But, by George, we didn't. The curtain 
went up the very next afternoon. 

It was nobody's fault — certainly not mine. 
It was just Fate. Freddie had settled down 
at the piano, and I was leading the kid out of 
the house to exercise it, when, just as we'd 
got out on to the veranda, along came the 
girl Angela on her way 
to the beach. The kid 
set up his usual yell at 
the sight of her, and she 
stopped at the foot of 
the steps. 

"Hello, baby!" she 
said. " Good morning," 
she said to me. " May 
I come up ? " 

She didn't wait for an 
answer. She just came. 
She seemed to be that 
sort of girl. She came 
up on the veranda and 
started fussing over the 
kid. And six feet away, 
mind you, Freddie smit- 
ing the piano in the 
sitting-room. It was a 
dashed disturbing situa- 
tion, don't you know. 
At any minute Freddie 
might take it into his 
head to come out on to 
the veranda, and we hadn't even begun to 
rehearse him in his part. 

I tried to break up the scene. 

" We were just going down to the beach," 
I said. 

" Yes ? " said the girl. She listened for a 
moment. " So you're having your piano 
tuned ? " she said. " My aunt has been trying 
to find a tuner for ours. Do you mind if I 
go in and tell this man to come on to us when 
he's finished here ? " 

" Er— not yet," I said. " Not yet, if you 
don't mind. He can't bear to be disturbed 
when he's working. It's the artistic tempera- 
ment. I'll tell him later." 

" Very well," she said, getting up to go. 
" Ask him to call at Pine Bungalow. West 
is the name. Oh, he seems to have stopped. 
I suppose he will be out in a minute now. 
HI wait." 

Digitized by L^OOgle 

" Don't you think — shouldn't we be going 
on to the beach ? " I said. 

She had started talking to the kid and 
didn't hear. She was feeling in her pocket 
for something. 

" The beach," I babbled. 

" See what I've brought for you, baby," 
she said. And, by George, don't you know, 
she held up in front of the kid's bulging eyes 
a chunk of toffee about the size of the Auto- 
mobile Club. 

That finished it. We had just been having 
a long rehearsal, and the kid was all worked 
up in his part. He got it right first time. 

" Kiss Fweddie ! " he shouted. 

And the front door opened, and Freddie 
came out on to the veranda, for all the world 
as if he had been taking a cue. 

He looked at the girl, and the girl looked 
at him. I looked at the ground, and the kid 
looked at the toffee. 

"Kiss Fweddie!" he yelled. "Kiss 
Fweddie ! " 

The girl was still holding up the toffee, 
and the kid did what Jimmy Pinkerton 
would have called " business of outstretched 
hands " towards it. 

" Kiss Fweddie ! " he shrieked. 

" What does this mean ? " said the 
turning to me. 

" You'd better 
know," I said, 

She gave the kid his toffee, and he sub- 


give it him, don't 
"He'll go on till 




sided. Poor old Freddie still stood there 
gaping, without a word. 

" What does it mean ? " said the girl 
again. Her face was pink, and her eyes were 
sparkling in the sort of way, don't you know, 
that makes a fellow feel as if he hadn't any 

r±s uncorwciou.r of rkc •^bcctaJ'ojv 
*r if ikcy k*d been alone irv 

bones in him, if you know what I mean. Did 
you ever tread on your partner's dress at a 
dance and tear it, and see her smile at you 
like an angel and say : " Please don't apolo- 
gize. It's nothing," and then suddenly meet 
her clear blue eyes and feel as if you had 
stepped on the teeth of a rake and had the 
handle jump up and hit you in the face ? 
Well, that's how Freddie's Angela looked. 

" Well 1 " she said, and her teeth gave a 
little click. 

I gulped. Then I said it was nothing. 
Then I said it was nothing much. Then I 
said, " Oh, well, it was this way." And, after 

a few brief remarks about Jimmy Pinkerton, 
I told her all about it. And all the while 
Idiot Freddie stood there gaping, without a 

And the girl didn't speak, either. She just 
stood listening. 

And then she began to laugh. I never 
heard a girl laugh so much. She leaned 
against the side of the veranda and shrieked. 
And all the while Freddie, the World's 
Champion Chump, stood there, saying 

Well, I sidled towards the steps. I had 
said all I had to say, and it seemed to me 
that about here the stage-direction " exit " 
was written in my part. I gave poor old 
Freddie up in despair. If only he had said 
a word, it might have been all right. But 
there he stood, speechless. What can a 
fellow do with a fellow like that ? 

Just out of sight of the house I met Jimmy 

" Hello, Reggie ! " he said. " I was just 
coming to you. Where's the kid ? We 
must have a big rehearsal to-day." 

" No good," I said, sadly. " It's all over. 
The thing's finished. Poor dear old Freddie 
has made an ass of himself and killed the 
whole show." 

" Tell me," said Jimmy. 

I told him. 

" Fluffed in his lines, did he ? " said Jimmy, 
nodding thoughtfully. " It.'s always the way 
with these amateurs. We must go back at 
once. Things look bad, but it may not be 
too late," he said, as we started. " Even now 
a few well-chosen words from a man of the 
world, and " 

" Great Scot ! " I cried. " Look ! " 

In front of the cottage stood six children, 
a nurse, and the fellow from the grocer's 
staring. From the windows of the houses 
opposite projected about four hundred heads 
of both sexes, staring. Down the road came 
galloping five more children, a dog, three men, 
and a boy, about to stare. And on our porch, 
as unconscious of the spectators as if they had 
been alone in the Sahara, stood Freddie and 
Angela, clasped in each other's arms. 

Dear old Freddie may have been fluffy in 
his lines, but, by George, his business had 
certainly gone with a bang ! 

by Google 

Original from 



Illustrated by W. E. Wigfull. 

". . . When some traveller from New Zealand shall, in the midst of a vast solitude, take his stand on a 
broken arch of London Bridge to sketch the ruins of St. Paul's/' — Macaulay. 

OR some years past the extra- 
ordinary finds of the Dr. 
Slovak-Bagster of Patagonia 
had aroused the deepest 
interest in ancient London 
archaeology. Certain objects 
which had been acquired by 
the Auckland National Museum — one believed 
to be an effigy of an English warrior, Arthur 
Duke (of Wellington), circa anno 185© of the 
Christian era, and a portion of a curious 
metal chariot or mota-car with a legend, 
D-468 — have been inspected by thousands of 
Zealanders. Recollecting that this half- 
mythical city of Lun-dun, or Londinium, 
was once the capital of our race, funds to the 
extent of forty thousand pundas were speedily 
granted by the Zealand National Council for 
the purpose of dispatching a scientific party 
to England to undertake special work of 
excavation of the site of Lun-dun and the 
Cockni region in the vicinity of the River 

To begin with, it may be stated that our 
party consisted of Colonel Binns Smoodle, 
P.D., S.R., Dr. The Opkins, R.O. (the 
distinguished architect-draughtsman, who has 
already been engaged in excavations at Paris 
— otherwise the Gace City, believed to be the 
headquarters of the Gaces— and Berlin, 
notable as the home of the Germs or Sheenies), 
Fellow Mustard Snip (the solarist, whose 
solar prints of ancient Chicago have won him 
several radium medals), and myself. 

We left Auckland fully equipped on the 
ninth of Thermoso, s.c. 5607, and five days 
later alighted at Lloydville, on the southern 
coast of the island of Wallia, formerly Britain, 
or Angleland. From thence we made our 
way northward through the WalUsh forests 
until, after many hardships and difficulties, 
which it is not necessary to recount, we 
reached the ancient village of Suthuk, which 
is on the edge of the river-bed of the Thames, 
most of which is now reclaimed land planted 
with cabbages, the export of which forms the 
principal staple of the country. 

Two of the most enlightened of the in- 
habitants, who, it is regrettable to know, 
have sunk very low in the scale of intelligence, 
undertook to guide us to the principal spots 
customarily visited by travellers. Our first 
destination was the vestiges of the once 
famous Lun-dun Bridge, mentioned in many 
ancient accounts and in one folk-lore ballad 
which has come down to us beginning, " Lun- 
dun Bridge is falling down." Several arches 
of this structure now span the intervening 
space between the village of Suthuk and the 
extremely picturesque ruins which are visible 
on the summit of an opposite eminence. 

These ruins are now all that is left of the 
once famous Cockni cathedral of St. Paul's. 
It was a superb day in early autumn when we 
halted to survey the scene, and my talented 
friend, Dr. Tite Opkins, took up his post on 
one of the shattered arches, in order to make 
a sketch of the ruins. Another colleague, 
Mr. Mustard Snip, proceeded to make some 
solar prints of the immediate neighbourhood, 
which is one much haunted by bitterns. 

After a brief delay, leaving Dr. Opkins 
engaged in his congenial task, the rest of the 
party pressed forward and began to make an 
investigation of the remains of this once 
populous and opulent city at closer quarters. 
It is difficult for me to describe vividly the 
general ruin and desolation which now 
pervade this celebrated spot. 

Several benighted peasants, who, we are 
told, claim to be the last survivors of the 
tribe of the Cocknies, now began to gather 
around us, and to offer for barter certain 
objects which they had dug up at various 
times in the vicinity. I will not undertake 
to enumerate all these objects, many of which 
possess considerable archaeological interest. 
Amongst them was a curious and complicated 
instrument, concerning whose use we are not 
agreed, but which corresponds in many 
particulars to the description which has come 
down to us of an ancient English machine, 
in which certain characters were impressed 
upon sheets of poper, cdled a write-typer. 





Another was a large brass horn, which Colonel 
Smoodle thought might he the trumpet 
commonly in use for calling members of the 
Radical or Tory tribes together, but which 
Dr, Gpkins believes to be the megaphone 
attached to an ancient gramophone. Several 
wheebj with dozens of slender spokes, thought 

to belong to an old 
English machine 
known as the 
bicycle > were also 
brought to us, to- 
gether with curious 
warped staves 
tipped with brass 
and steel, used by 
the players of the 
long extinct game 
of golf. 

We made our way 
by degrees into the 
ruins of the cathedral, which now 
afford a singular aspect of pictur- 
esque solitude. 

Having got together a set of 
workmen , we commenced the labour 
of excavation in the most likely 
spot, and daily awaited the results 
with eagerness. After digging down 
a depth of twenty-nine feet, the 
pickaxe struck a metal substance, 
which proved to be a bronze statue 
in an excellent slate of preserva- 
tion. This evidently was part of a 
sarcophagus , which probably en- 
closed the remains of a hero hitherto 
supposed to have been legendary, 
an Oriental warrior known in fable 
as Chinese Gordon. The remains of 
other statues were unearthed, including the 
head of a statue believed to he that of Joshua 
Reynolds, or Reynolds Joshua, who, it will 
be remembered j commanded the sun to pause 
in his flight, in order that he might paint it. 
We also came across vestiges of a huge 
musical instrument,, very much esteemed 




three or four thousand years ago, and known 
as the organ. This particular specimen — as 
Dr. Schmutz, in his monograph of Ancient 
England, has shown — was considered one of 
the finest in Great Britain, being divided into 
two parts, ene on each side of the choir, with 
connecting mechanism under the choir floor- 
ing. It emitted strange vibrating sounds, 
sometimes resembling the tones of the human 
voice and other times of thunder. 

In the course of the next three months a 
most astonishing collection of fragments of 
statues and of mural decoration rewarded 
our efforts. One in particular we were 
desirous of exhuming, in order to confirm 
the passage from the old English chronicler, 
Macaulay, quoted in Schmutz's monumental 
work, before the Wallish fog and rainy season 
known as winter set in. I am glad to be 
able to report that the tablet in memory of 
Christophorus Wren, the builder of the 
cathedral, with the inscription containing the 
words, " Lector, si monumentum requiris, 
circumspice," was brought to light, and has 
been shipped to old Zealand. 

It is impossible to convey an idea of the 
. horrors of the Wallish climate at this season 
of the year. It rendered it impossible for us 
to continue our labours. Indeed, it is no 
wonder that this island became gradually 
depopulated in the course of centuries, when 
its inhabitants had to endure such climatic 
hardships. Indeed, to one accustomed to 
the climates of old Zealand, Australis, 
Krugerland, Mapleland, Dai-Nippon, and 
other parts of the world, not to mention Mars 
and the moon, it is hard to realize how any 
intelligent race of men would consent to 
continue existence in such a bleak island. 

When we eventually resumed our excava- 
tions at St. Paul's, we were rewarded by 
coming across what is undoubtedly the once 
famous lantern formerly above the dome. 
On the top of the lantern once rested a ball, 
surmounted by a cross, both together weighing 
three thousand four hundred and sixty-two 
mullia — or, in the system of weights then 
believed to be in vogue, eight thousand nine 
hundred and sixty pounds. The ball was 
six feet in diameter, and could hold ten or 
twelve persons within. Judge, therefore, 
what must have been the majesty of this 
structure three thousand years ago ! Its 
height was four hundred and eighty peda, 
or three hundred and sixty-four English feet 
— the scale of measurement being derived 
from the size of the human foot, which was 
much larger amongst the English people than 
it is at present. 

Digitized by dOOgle 

Meanwhile, other workmen were busily 
engaged in investigations, under our direction, 
in the immediate neighbourhood. One of 
these was on the site of a building which at 
one time must have borne the legend in gilt 
letters " Lyons," probably one of those 
temples mentioned by Dr. Schmutz, fre- 
quented by the population of all classes for 
the consumption of a beverage known as tea, 
or tay. In the foundation-stone of this 
building was made a memorable discovery, 
and what has hitherto hardly been believed 
to exist — namely, copies of the daily journals 
of Lun-dun in the Christian year 1912. This 
find created the utmost excitement amongst 
scholars throughout the civilized world. It 
was comparable to the fabled discovery by 
the antique demi-god Napoleon of the 
so-called Rosetta Stone, which unlocked as 
if by magic the repository of the secrets of 
the Egyptian past. The key to the whole of 
these journals or newspapers has not yet 
been found, but learned men are engaged 
upon them, and no doubt much of great 
interest will be revealed. One of these 
printed documents (or newspapers, as they 
were called) bore the title of the Daily 
Telegraph. The telegraph was, it will be 
remembered, the instrument for conveying 
messages from one place to another by means 
of electrical currents passing along wires. 
Why the newspaper bore this name has not 
yet been elucidated. The whole document, 
however, is a mine of great philological value, 
and contains many rare words and phrases 
not to be found elsewhere. Another docu- 
ment, superscribed Daily Yarn, is an even 
greater curiosity. It contains references to 
events which the learned Dr. Schmutz, 
Professor Zammer, and others declare could 
not possibly ever have happened, and is 
therefore supposed to have been the joint 
composition of talented fabulists, whose 
little tales appear to have enjoyed a wide 
popularity three thousand years ago. A 
specimen of the picture papers of the period 
was also found, exhibiting on either side of 
the leaf bizarre reproductions in black ink 
of current episodes, some of them very in- 
structive and entertaining, although difficult 
to connect with human life at any period of 
the world's history. 

Not far distant from St. Paul's are the 
ruins of the ancient fortress and gloomy 
State prison of Lun-dun, once held to be 
historically the most interesting spot in 
Angleland. It was called the Tower, and 
was built by one William, surnamed the 
Conqueror. The chape! of St. John, which 






was once situated on the second floor of the 
structure, had long disappeared ; but at a 
depth of fifty feet its massive pillars and 
cubical capitols, its wide triforium, its apse, 
its ruined arches, and its barrel-vaulted 
ceiling were unearthed by the excavators. A 
great deal of armour was also found — that is, 
a kind of steel clothing — which is supposed 
to have been worn by the famous personages 
of Angleland's mightiest period — Asquith, 
Lloyd George, Churchill, and others — to 
protect them effectually against the assaults 
of their enemies. 

From the Tower we eventually proceeded 
along the banks of the river to a temple of 

Digitized by V^_t 

even greater renown, no less than 
the Westminster Abbey of English 
legend. This famous structure, to 
which the name of Walhalla has 
been applied, stands on low ground 
on the left bank, overgrown with 
thorns and surrounded by a marsh. 
The Abbey formerly contained 
numerous Royal burial vaults and 
a long series of monuments to cele- 
brated men + Interment within these 
walls was held to be the last and 
greatest honour which the nation 
could bestow on the most illustrious 
of her sons. It was also the place 
where the English Kings and Queens 
were crowned , with great pomp, 
Alas, what is left of this glory to- 
day ? A picturesque and venerable 
ruin which the piety of one of the 
Cockni tribes, after great labour, 
exposed over a century ago to the 
light. It is with feelings almost too 
deep for words that we pass the site 
of the nave, chancel, and cloister, 
and remember the scenes doubtless 
enacted here thousands of years ago. 
At first we encountered some diffi- 
culty in commencing our operations, 
owing to the prejudice 
of some of the natives, 
but when our intentions 
were finally explained 
to them and several 
had been sufficiently 
bribed, we were allowed 
to continue the work. 
After removing some 
six million cubic peda 
of rubbish, which was 
carted away, we came 
across a marble effigy, 
which has been identi- 
fied as that of the 
statesman William Pitt, in the company of 
two other figures, one representing History 
listening to his words, and the other Anarchy 
in chains. These highly interesting specimens 
of the sculpture of old Angleland in its prime 
have been presented by our Government to 
the President of Siberia, 

One of the conclusions resulting from our 
excavations at Westminster was the exposure 
of the fallacy that only great men were 
buried in the Abbey, for we came across 
numerous vaults of persons not mentioned in 
Schmutz's lists* Several of them have since 
been shown to he persons of small conse- 
quence : John Blew, who played the organ 






at one time; Eliza- 
beth Warren, 
widow of a Bishop 
William Thynne ; 
John Ernest 
Grabb ; Thomas 
Shad well, the 
poet; Peter Brown, 
aged seven years ; 
Esme Stuart, aged 
ten ; Aphra Behn, 
a lady who wrote 
shilling shochers 
(as certain light 
romances were 
then called) ; 
Suzanna David- 
son, daughter of 
a rich merchant 
of Rotterdam, and 
other celebrities of 
that stamp. 

We succeeded 
in exhuming large 
fragments of a 
most extraordi- 
nary piece of 
sculpture, which 
at first we sup- 
posed must be 
that of some great 
monarch ? states- 
man, or warrior, 
It represented 
Death emerging 
from a tomb and 
launching his dart 
at a lady in the 
act of dying, while 
her husband tries 
to ward off the 
attack. This strik- 
ing work was, how- 
ever, shown to 
commemorate the 
memory of a Mr. 
and Mrs. Bird, of 
whom nothing is 
known except that 
they conducted a 
very successful 
drapery establish- 
ment somewhere 
near the Via 

We left a large 

party at work 

busily restoring 


Original from 




Abbey^ so that it yet may present some 
notion of its former greatness. But at present 
funds are sorely lacking for the pur pose , 
inasmuch as the municipality of Lloyd ville 
has failed to grant the money we had 
hoped for, 

Closely adjacent to the Abbey are the 
imposing ruins of the Gothic temple of 
Parliament, which was dedicated to St. 
Stephen. Here was where the statesmen, 
orators, and politicians assembled by hun- 
dreds daily thousands of years ago- Frag- 
ments of their debates may be read in 
Schmutz, and excite in us now the utmost 

astonishment that the affairs of a great 
nation should have been conducted in such 
a manner. Excavations on this site have 
yielded many finds of antiquarian interest, 
amongst them being a small iron t>ox, upon 
which the initials " Y* E. S." are still visible. 
When this box was broken open several 
sheets of paper were found, still in a state of 
good preservation. One of these sheets was 
headed, " Mems. for the Day. Give Winston 
beans. No warrant for barriers. Disgraceful 
arrogance of power/' ctc\, the exact signi- 
ficance of which has so far escaped our 

Hot, great as was the interest which these 
magnificent ruins aroused in us, there were 
some who were filled with a greater fervour 
at the thought of bringing to light some 
relics of that world-famous library and 
archaeological collection known as the British 

Making our way thither, across fields covered 


voL.iiL-M jiize OCX 





with undergrowth and small limber, with 
occasional woodmen's cottages, we came to 
the northern side of what was once the road 
running between Lun-dun and Oxford, and 
t h:- n-li:> of li once ^lately pile. This building 
is said to date back to the first half of the 
nineteenth century of the Christian era, and 
was built by two brothers named Smirkc, 
Within it was gathered an enormous collection 
of printed books f manuscripts; prints, and 
drawings, antiquities f coins, and medals. 
What is now left of all this wealth ? Bats 
and swallows now circle about what was once 
the great reading-room, and moss and ivy 
cover a great part of the ruins* It is said 
that pigeons once resorted here in large 

numbers, and iaies 
arc related which 
seem to us now 

Several highly 
interesting finds 
were made in th ; s 
vicinity. It must 
be remembered 
that the average 
difference of level 
between the 
ancient site of 
Lun-dun and the 
modern village is 
seventy -two feet. 
This corresponds 
lo the difference 
of level which was 
found between the 
ancient and later 
Rome, as recorded 
in phonograph 
discs dating about 
the year 2000, For 
instance, we are 
told that a pedes- 
tal inscribed with 
the name of 
Nieratius le rial is, 
formerly in the 
inner courtyard in 
the House of the 
Vestals in the 
Forum, was found 
perpendicular and 
intact at this 
depth. At a depth 
of nearly eighty 
feet wc came across 
portions of the in- 
scription which 
f o r m c r 1 y ran 
around the top of the reading-room, inscribed 
with such names as "Tennyson," "Words- 
worth," and '"Milton," who are believed to 
have been poets of that period, but whose 
writings have not. come down to us + 

\Vc are told that in the reign of the fifth 
George the Courts of Law were regarded as 
one of the most impo ing structures of the 
capital. Here foregathered all the professors 
of that mysterious system called Law in 
ancient times — chief justices, judges, bar- 
risters, solicitors, and other of the strange 
hierarchy long since obsolete. The halls in 
which they plied their calling have almost 
disappeared, and only a couple of venerable 
towers remain, Beneath the tons of stone, 




brick, and other debris 
it is believed much of 
archaeological interest 
is buried, which per- 
sistent excavation 
will bring to light* 

Altogether the im- 
pression made upon 
us was one of admira- 
tion mingled with awe 
and wonder at these 
monuments of a past 
civilization. No doubt 
it seemed to the in- 
habitants of ancient 
Angleland and their 
mighty city of Lun- 
dun, whose ardent and 
enterprising spirits 
roamed through the 
world, founding colo- 
nies and establishing 
an opulent empire, 
that they would escape 
the fate which had 
overtaken Assyria, 
Egypt ; Greece, and 
Rome, that the soli- 
dity of their structures 
would baffle the tooth 
of Time. But, although 
they have thus passed 
away and left nothing 
but these relics to 
attest their former 
magnificence and 

glory, yet the English 
people doubtless 
played their part in 
hastening on the ulti- 
mate civilization and 
beautifi cation of the 
world and adjacent 
planets which we to- 
day witness. 

As a result of the 
unofficial reports made 
by our party and 
widely circulated by 
the news - cylinders 
throughout Zealand, 
large numbers of tour- 
ists instantly began to 

Rock to Wallia. From 
Lloydville they pro- 
ceeded with guides to 
the site of Lun-dun, 
where all the ruins 1 
have here enumera- 
ted were pointed out 
to their admiring eyes. 
Indeed, there are few 
places which promise 
greater attractions for 
a summer holiday than 
the ruins of ancient 
Lun-dun, although the 
Zealand public should 
be warned against pur- 
chasing relics offered 
to them by unscrupu- 
lous persons, Only the 
other day the hilt of 
a sword (which, we 
may point out, was an 
implement once actu- 
ally used for shedding 
human blood) was sold 
at a high price, on the 
ground of its having 
once been possessed 
by one Kitchener t a re- 
nowned English sold- 
yar of the latter part 
of the second Christian 
millenary. As Dr. 
Schmutz has clearly 
proved, this Kitchener 
wns a wholly mythical 
personage , who figures 
in the Victorian fables, 
and is mentioned 
together with another 
legendary hero, Bobs, 
in the epic verse of 
the KuglL-h bard, 


by Google 

Original from 

Judith Lee: Pages from Her life. 


Illustrated by J. R. Skelton. 

[A new detective method is such a rare thing that it is with unusual pba«*ure we continue the 
adventures of Judith Lee, the fortunate possessor of a gift which gives her a place apart in detective 
fiction. Mr. Marsh's heroine is one whose fortune", we predict with confidence* will be followed 

with the greatest interest from month to month.] 

II. — Eavesdropping at Interlaken. 

HAVE sometimes thought 
that this gift of mine for 
reading words as they issue 
from people's lips places me, 
with or without my will, in 
the position of the eaves- 
dropper. There have been 
occasions on which, before I knew it, I have 
been made cognisant of conversations, of 
confidences, which were meant to be sacred ; 
and, though such knowledge has been acquired 
through no fault of mine, I have felt ashamed, 
just as if I had been listening at a key-hole, 
and I have almost wished that the power 
which Nature gave me, and which years of 
practice have made perfect, was not mine at 
all. On the other hand, there have been 
times when I was very glad indeed that I was 
able to play the part of eavesdropper. As, 
to very strict purists, this may not sound a 
pleasant confession to make, 1 will give an 
instance of the kind of thing I mean. 

I suppose I was about seventeen ; I know 
I had just put my hair up, which had grown 
to something like a decent length since it had 
come in contact with the edge of that doughty 
Scottish chieftain's — MacGregor's — knife. My 
mother was not very well. My father was 
reluctant to leave her. It looked as if the 
summer holiday which had been promised me 
was in peril, when two acquaintances, Mr. 
and Mrs. Travers, rather than that I should 
lose it altogether, offered to take me under 
their wing. They were going for a little tour 
in Switzerland, proposing to spend most of 
their time at Interlaken, and my parents, 
feeling that I should be perfectly safe with 
them, accepted their proffered chaperonage. 
Everything went well until we got to Inter- 

Copyngfat, X91 1 , 

laken. There they met some friends who 
were going on a climbing expedition, and, as 
Mr. and Mrs. Travers were both keen moun- 
taineers, they were very eager to join them. 
I was the only difficulty in their way. They 
could not say exactly how long they would 
be absent, but probably a week ; and what 
was to become of me in that great hotel there 
all alone ? They protested that it would be 
quite impossible to leave me ; they would 
have to give up that climb ; and I believe 
they would have done so if what seemed to 
be a solution of the difficulty had not turned 

The people in the hotel were for the most 
part very sociable folk, as people in such 
places are apt to be. Among other persons 
whose acquaintance we had made was a 
middle-aged widow, a Mrs. Hawthorne. When 
she heard of what Mr. and Mrs. Travers 
wanted to do, and how they could not do it 
because of me, she volunteered, during their 
absence, to occupy their place as my chaperon, 
assuring them that every possible care should 
be taken of me. 

In the hotel were stopping a brother and 
sister, a Mr. and Miss Sterndale. With them 
I had grown quite friendly. Mr. Sterndale 
I should have set down as twenty-five or 
twenty-six, and his sister as a year or two 
younger. From the day on which I had first 
seen them they had shown an inclination for 
my society ; and, to speak quite frankly, on 
different occasions Mr. Sterndale had paid me 
what seemed to me to be delicate little atten- 
tions which were very dear to my maiden 
heart. I had some difficulty in inducing 
people to treat me as if I were grown up. 
After a few minutes' conversation even 



perfect strangers would ask me how old 
I was, and when I told them they were 
apt to assume an attitude towards me 
as if I were the merest child, of which I 

What attracted me to Mr. Sterndale was 
that, from the very first, he treated me with 
deference, as if I were at least as old as he was. 

On the third day after Mr. and Mrs. Travers 
had left Mrs. Hawthorne came to me with a 
long face and a letter in her hand. 

" My dear, I cannot tell you how annoyed 
I am, but I shall have to go to England at 
once — to-day. And whatever will become of 
you ? " 

It seemed that her only sister was dan- 
gerously ill, and that she was implored to go 
to her as soon as she could. Of course, she 
would have to go. I told her that it did not 
matter in the least about me ; Mr. and Mrs. 
Travers would be back in a day or two, and 
now that I knew so many people in the 
hotel, who were all of them disposed to be 
friendly, I should be perfectly all right until 
they came. She must not allow any consider- 
ation for me to keep her for a moment from 
obeying her sister's call. She left for London 
that afternoon ; but, so far from everything 
being perfectly all right with me after she had 
gone, the very next day my troubles began. 

They began in the morning. I was sitting 
on the terrace with a book. Mr. Sterndale 
had been talking to me. Presently his sister 
came through an open French window from 
the lounge. Her brother went up to her ; I 
sat still. She was at the other end of the 
terrace, and when she saw me she nodded 
and smiled. When her brother came up to 
her, he said something which, as his back was 
towards me, of course I did not catch ; but 
her answer to him, which was very gently 
uttered, I saw quite distinctly ; all the while 
she was speaking she was smiling at me. 

" She has a red morocco jewel-case sort of 
a thing on the corner of her mantel-shelf ; I 
put it under the bottom tray. With the 
exception of that gold locket which she is 
always wearing it's the only decent thing in 
it ; it's full of childish trumpery." 

That was what Miss Sterndale said to her 
brother, and I saw her say it with rather 
curious feelings. What had he asked her ? 
To what could she be referring ? I had " a 
red morocco jewel-case sort of a thing," and it 
stood on a corner of my mantel-shelf. I also 
had a gold locket, which, if I was not, as she 
put it, always wearing, I did wear pretty 
often. Certainly it was the only article in 
my jewel-case which was worth very much ; 

and with a horrid sort of qualm I owned to 
myself that the rest of the contents might 
come under the definition of " childish 
trumpery." She said she had put some- 
thing under the bottom tray. What bottom 
tray ? Whose bottom tray ? There were 
trays in my jewel - case ; she could not 
possibly have meant that she had put any- 
thing under one of them. The idea was 
too preposterous. And yet, if we had not 
been going to St. Beatenberg I think I 
should have gone straight up to my bedroom 
to see. I do not know how it was ; the 
moment before I had been perfectly happy ; 
there was not a grain of suspicion \i the air, 
nor in my mind ; then all of a sudden I 
felt quite curious. Could there be two 
persons in the house possessed of " a red 
morocco jewel-case sort of a thing," which 
stood on a corner of the mantel-sh«lf, in which 
was a gold locket and a rather mixed collec- 
tion of childish trumpery ? I wondered. 

The evening before we had arranged to 
make an excursion to St. Beatenberg on 
the Lake of Thun — five or six of us. I was 
dressed ready to start when Miss Sterndale 
came through that French window. She 
also was ready, and her brother. Presently 
the others appeared. I was feeling a little 
confused ; I could not think of an excuse 
which would give me an opportunity of 
examining my jewel-case. Anyhow, I kept 
trying to tell myself it was absurd. I wished 
I could not see what people were saying merely 
by watching their lips. 

My day at St. Beatenberg was spoilt, 
though I kept telling myself that it was all 
my own fault, and nobody else's. Everyone 
was gay, and full of fun and laughter — every- 
one but me. My mood was so obviously out 
of tune with theirs that they commented on it. 

" What is the matter with you, Miss Lee ? " 
asked Mrs. Dalton; " you look as if you were 
not enjoying yourself one little bit." 

I did not like to say that I was not ; as a 
matter of fact, when they rallied me I said 
that I was — but it was not true. 

When I got back to the hotel and was in 
my bedroom, I went straight up to that " red 
morocco jewel-case sort of a thing " and looked 
at it. It was locked, just as I had left it. 
Clearly I had been worrying myself all day 
long about nothing at all. Still, I got my keys 
and opened it ; there was nothing to show 
that the contents had been touched. I lifted 
the two trays — and I gasped. I do not know 
how else to describe it — something seemed 
all at once to be choking me, so that it was 
with an effovt rliat I breathed. In the jewel- 




case, under the bottom tray, was a pendant — 
a beautiful circular diamond pendant, of the 
size, perhaps, of a five-shilling piece. It was 
not mine; I never had anything so beautiful 
in my life. Where did it come from ? Could 
Miss Sterndale have put it there ? Was that 
the meaning of her words ? 

I took the pendant out. It was a beauty ; 
it could not be a present from the Sterndales, 
from either the sister or the brother. They 
must have known that I could not accept 
such a gift as that from strangers. And then, 
what a queer way of making a present — and 
such a present ! 

As I looked at it I began to have a very 
uncomfortable feeling that I had seen it 
before, or one very like it, on someone in the 
house. My head, or my brain, or something, 
seemed to be so muddled that at the moment 
I could not think who that someone was. I 
had washed and tidied myself before I decided 
that I would go down with the pendant in 
my hand and, at the risk of no matter what 
misunderstanding, ask Miss Sterndale what 
she meant by putting it there. So, when I 
had got my unruly hair into something like 
order, downstairs I went, and rushed into 
the lounge with so much impetuosity that I 
all but cannoned against Miss Goodridge, 
who was coming out. 

" Good gracious, child ! " she exclaimed. 
" Do look where you are going. You almost 
knocked me over." 

The instant I saw her, and. she said that, 
I remembered — I knew whom I had seen 
wearing that diamond pendant which I was 
holding tightly clasped in the palm of my 
hand. It was the person whom I had almost 
knocked over, Miss Goodridge herself — of 
courr <s ! One of the persons in the hotel 
whom, so far as I knew anything of them, I 
liked least. Miss Goodridge was a tall, 
angular person of perhaps quite thirty-five, 
who dressed and carried herself as if she were 
still a girl. She had been most unpleasant 
to me. I had no idea what I had done or 
said to cause her annoyance, but I had a feel- 
ing that she disliked me, and was at no pains 
to conceal the fact. The sight of her, and 
the thought that I had nearly knocked her 
over, quite drove the sense out of my head. 

" Oh, Miss Goodridge ! " I exclaimed, 
rather fatuously. " You look as if something 
had happened." 

" Something has happened/' she replied. . 
" There's a thief in the house. I have been 
robbed. Someone has stolen my pendant — 
my diamond pendant." 

Someone had stolen her diamond pendant ! 

I do not know if the temperature changed all 
at once, but I do know that a chill went all 
over me. Was that the explanation ? Could 

it possibly be I did not care to carry 

even my thought to a logical finish. I stood 
there as if I were rroonstruck, with Miss 
Goodridge looking at me with angry eyes. 

" What is the matter with the child ? " 
she asked. " I did not know you dark- 
skinned girls could blush, but I declare you've 
gone as red as a lobster." 

I do not know if she thought that lobsters 
were red before they were boiled. I tried 
to explain, to say what I wanted to say, but 
I appeared to be tongue-tied. 

" Can't you speak ? " she ccmanded. 
" Don't glare at me as if you'd committed a 
murder. Anyone would think that you had 
been robbed instead of me. I suppose you 
haven't stolen my pendant ? " 

She drew her bow at a venture, but her 
arrow hit the mark. 

" Oh, Miss Goodridge ! " I repeated. It 
seemed to be all I could say. 

She put her hand upon my shoulder. 

" What is the matter with the girl ? You 
young wretch ! Have you been playing any 
tricks with that pendant of mine ? " 

" I — I found it," I stammered. I held 
out to her my open hand with the pendant 
on the palm. 

" You — you found it ? Found what ? " 
She looked at me and then at my outstretched 
hand. " My pendant ! She's got my pen- 
dant ! " She snatched it from me. " You 
— you young — thief ! And you have the 
insolence to pretend you found it ! " 

" I did find it — I found it in my bedroom." 

" Did you really ? Of all the assurance ! 
I've always felt that you were the kind of 
creature with whom the less one had to do 
the better, but I never credited you with a 
taste for this sort of thing. Get out of my 
way ! Don't you ever dare to speak to me 

She did not wait for me to get out of her 
way ; she gave me a violent push and rushed 
right past me. It was a polished floor ; if 
I had not come in contact with a big arm- 
chair I should have tumbled on to it. My 
feelings when I was left alone in the lounge 
were not enviable. At seventeen, even if 
one thinks oneself grown up, one is still only 
a child, and I was a stranger in a strange 
land, without a friend in all that great hotel, 
without a soul to advise me. Still, as I knew 
that I was absolutely and entirely innocent, I 
did not intend to behave as if I were guilty. 
I went up to my room again and dressed for 




dinner. I told myself over and over again 
as I performed my simple toilette that I 
would make Miss Goodridge eat her words 
before she had done, though at that moment 
1 had not the faintest notion how I was going 
to do it. 

That was a horrid dinner — not from the 
culinary, but from my point of view. If 
the dinner was horrid, in the lounge after- 
wards it was worse, Miss Stemdaie actually 
had the audacity to come up to me and pre- 
tend to play the part of sympathetic friend, 

1 You seem to be all alone/' she began. 
I was all alone ; I had 
never thought that anyone 
could feel so utterly alone 
as I did in that crowded 
lounge, *' Miss Lee, why 
do you look at me like 
that ? " I was looking at 
her as if I wished her to 
understand that I was look- 
ing into her very soul — if 
she had one. Her smiling 
serenity of countenance 
was incredible to me, know- 
ing what I knew. " Have 
you had had news from 
home ; or from Mr, and Mrs, 
Travers, or are you un- 
happy because Mrs. Haw- 
thorne has gone ? You seem 
.^0 different. What has 
been the matter with you 
the whole of to-day ? " 

I was on the point of 
giving an explanation which 
1 think might have startled 
her when I happened to 
glance across the room. At 
a table near the open win- 
dow, Mr, Stemdaie was 
sitting with Miss Goodridge. 
They were having coffee. 
Although Miss Goodridge 
was sitting sideways, she 
continually turned her head 
lo watch me, Mr, Stemdaie 
uus sitting directly facing 
me. He had a cigarette in one hand, and 
every now and then he sipped his coffee, 
but most of the time he talked. But, 
although I could not even hear the sound 
of his voice, I saw what he said as distinctly 
as if he had been shouting in my ear. It was 
the sentence he was uttering which caused 
me to defer the explanation which I had it 
in my mind to give to his sister. 

" Of course, the girl's a thief — I'm afraid 


that goes without saying.* 1 It was that sen- 
tence which was issuing from his lips at the 
moment when I chanced to glance in his 
direction which caused the explanation I 
had been 
about to 
make to 
his sister 
to be de- 

ridge hac 


her coffee-cup up to her mouth, so I could not 
sec what she said ; but if I had been put to it 
1 might have made a very shrewd guess by the 
reply he made. He took his cigarette from his 
lips t blew out a thin column of smoke, leaned 
back in his chair — and all the time he was 
looking smilingly at me with what he meant 
me to think were the eyes of a friend. 

" It's all very well for you to talk, I may 
have had my suspicions., but it is only within 




the last hour or two that they have been 

She said something which again I could 
not see ; his reply suggested that she must 
have asked a question. 

" 111 tell you what I mean by saying that 
my doubts have been confirmed. A man was 
passing through this afternoon with whom 
I have some acquaintance — the Rector of 
Leeds." I wonder he did not say the Bishop 

of London. " He saw — our friend " He 

made a slight inclination of his head towards 
me. " At sight of her he exclaimed : ' Halloa, 
there's that Burnett girl ! ' For a parson he 
has rather a free and easy way of speaking ; 
he's one of your modern kind." I believed 
him ! " ' Burnett girl ? ' I said. ' But her 
name's Lee — Judith Lee.' i Oh, she calls her- 
self Lee now, does she ? That settles it.' 
' Settles what ? ' I asked, because I saw that 
there was something in his tone. ' My dear 
Reggie,' he said (he always calls me Reggie ; 
I've known him for years), 'at the beginning 
of the season that girl whom you call Judith 
Lee was at Pontresina, staying in the same 
hold as I was. She called herself Burnett 
then. Robberies were going on all the time, 
people were continually missing things. At 
last a Russian woman lost a valuable lot of 
jewellery. That settled it — Miss Burnett 
went.' " 

Miss Goodridge turned so that her face y/cjs 
hidden ; but, as before, his reply gave me a 
pretty good clue as to the question she had 

" Of course I mean it. Do you think I'd 
say a thing like that if I didn't mean it ? I 
won't tell you all he said — it wouldn't be 
quite fair. But it came to this. He said 
that the young lady whom we have all 
thought so sweet and innocent " 

Miss Goodridge interposed with a remark 
which, in a guessing competition, I think I 
could have come pretty near to. He 
replied : — 

" Well, I've sometimes felt that you were 
rather hard on her, that perhaps you were a 
trifle prejudiced." 

Miss Goodridge turned her face towards 
me, and then I saw her words. 

" I'm a better judge of feminine human 
nature than you suppose. The first moment 
I saw her I knew she was a young cat, though 
I admit I didn't take her to be as bad as she 
is. What did your clerical friend say of her, 
of the Miss Burnett whom we know now as 
Miss Lee ? " 

I did not wait to learr his answer — I had 
learnt enough. What his sister thought of 

my demeanour I did not care ; I had been 
dimly conscious that she had been talking to 
me all the while, but what she was saying I 
do not know. My attention had been wholly 
taken up with what I did not hear. Before 
he began his reply to Miss Goodridge's 
genial inquiry I got up from my chair and 
marched out of the lounge, without saying a 
word to Miss Sterndale. When I had gone a 
little way I remembered that I had left my 
handkerchief — my best lace handkerchief — 
on the table by which I had been sitting. 
Even in the midst of my agitation I was 
conscious that I could not afford to lose it, 
so went back for it. 

Miss Sterndale had joined her brother and 
Miss Goodridge. Two or three other people 
were standing by them, evidently interested 
in what was being said. I found my hand- 
kerchief. As I was going off with it Miss 
Sterndale turned round in my direction, 
without, however, thinking it worth her 
while to break off the remark she was making, 
taking it for granted, of course, th^t it was 
inaudible to me. I crrne in, as it were, for 
the tail end of it 

"... I am so disappointed in her ; I 
have tried to like her, and new I fear it is 
only tec certain that she is one of those 
creatures of whom the less said the better." 

That these words referred to me I had not 
the slightest doubt. Yet, while they were 
still on her lips, presuming on her conviction 
that they were hidden from me, she nodded 
and smiled as if she were wishing me a friendly 
ftood -night. 

The treachery of it ! Now that I am able 
to look back calmly, I think it was that which 
galled me most. Her brother, with his 
gratuitous, horrible lies, had actually been 
pretending to make love to me — I am sure 
that was what he wished me to think he was 
doing. What a fool he must have thought me ! 

That was a sleepless night. It was hours 
before I got between the sheets, and when I 
did it was not to slumber. The feeling that 
I was so entirely alone, and that there was not 
a soul within miles and miles to whem 1 could 
turn for help, coupled with the consciousness 
that I had scarcely enough money to pay the 
hotel bill, and, what was even worse, that Mr. 
and Mrs. Travers had gone off with the return- 
half of my ticket to London, so that I could 
not go back home however much I might want 
to — these things were hard enough to bear ; 
but they seemed to be as nothing compared 
to that man and woman's treachery. What 
was their motive, what could have induced 
them, was beyend xny comprehension. It 




was a problem which I strove all night to 
solve. But the solution came on the morrow. 

I soon knew what had happened when I 
went downstairs. Miss Goodridge had told 
her story of the pendant, and Mr. Sterndale 
had circulated his lie about his clerical friend. 
Everybody shunned me. Some persons had 
the grace to pretend not to see me ; others 
looked me full in the face and cut me dead. 
The only persons who were disposed to show 
any perception of my presence were the 
Sterndales. As, entering the breakfast-room, 
I passed their table, they both smiled and 
nodded, but I showed no consciousness of 
them. As I took a seat at my own table, 
I saw him say to his sister : — 

" Our young friend seems to have got her 
back up— little idiot ! " 

Little idiot, was I ? Only yesterday he 
had called me something else. The feeling 
that he was saying such things behind my back 
hurt me more than if he had shouted them to 
my face. I averted my gaze, keeping my eyes 
fixed on my plate. I would learn no more of 
what he said about me, or of what anyone 
said. I was conscious that life might become 
unendurable if I were made acquainted with 
the comments which people were making on 
me then. Yet, as I sat there with downcast 
face, might they not construe that as the 
bearing of a conscience-stricken and guilty 
wretch ? I felt sure that that was what they 
were doing. But I could not help it ; I would 
not sec what they were saying. 

Later in the morning matters turned out 
so that I did see, so that practically I had to 
see what the Sterndales said to each other. 
And perhaps, on the whole, it was fortunate 
for me that I did. I had spent the morning 
out of doors. On the terrace the Sterndales 
were standing close together, talking ; so 
engrossed were they by what they were 
saying that they did not notice me ; while, 
though I did not wish to look at them, some- 
thing made me. That may seem to be an 
exaggeration. It is not — it is the truth. My 
wish was to have nothing more to do with 
them for ever and ever ; but some instinct, 
which came I know not whence, made me turn 
my eyes in their direction and see what they 
were saying. And, as I have already said, 
it was well for me that I did. 

They both seemed to be rather excited. 
He was speaking quickly and with emphasis. 

" I tell you," he was saying, as I paused to 
watch, " we will do it to-day." 

His sister said something which, as she was 
standing sideways, was lost to me. lie 
replied :— 

" The little idiot has cooked her own goose ; 
there's no need for us to waste time in cooking 
it any more — she's done. I tell you we can 
strip the house of all it contains, and they'd 
lock her up for doing it." 

Again his sister spoke ; without, because 
of her position, giving herself away to me. 
He went on again : — 

" There are only two things in the house 
worth having — I could give you a catalogue 
of what everyone has got. Mrs. Anstruther's 
diamonds — the necklace is first-rate, and the 
rest of them aren't bad ; and that American 
woman's pearls. Those five ropes of pearls 
are worth — I hope they'll be worth a good 
deal to us. The rest of the things you may 
make a present of to our young friend. The 
odium will fall on her — you'll see. We shall 
be able to depart with the only things worth 
having, at our distinguished leisure, without 
a stain upon our characters." 

He smiled — some people might have 
thought it a pleasant smile — to me it seemed 
a horrid one. That smile finished me — it 
reminded me of the traitor's kiss. I passed 
into the house still unnoticed, though I do 
not suppose that if I had been noticed it 
would have made any difference to them. 

What he meant by what he had said I did 
not clearly understand. The only thing I 
quite realized was that he was still making 
sport of me. I also gathered that that was 
an amusement which he proposed to con- 
tinue, though just how I did not see. Nor 
did I grasp the inner meaning of his allusion 
to Mrs. Anstruther's diamonds and Mrs. 
Newball's pearls — no doubt it was Mrs. 
Newball he meant when he sppke of the 
American woman. The fine jewels of those 
two ladies, which they aired at every oppor- 
tunity, were, as I knew perfectly well, the 
talk of the whole hotel. Probably that was 
what they meant they should be. When 
Mrs. Anstruther had diamonds round her 
neck and on her bosom and in her ears and 
hair and round her wrists and on her fingers — 
I myself had seen her wear diamond rings on 
all the fingers of both hands and two diamond 
bracelets on each wrist — she was a sight to 
be remembered; while Mrs. Newball, with 
her five strings of splendid pearls, which she 
sometimes wore all together as a necklace 
and sometimes twisted as bracelets round 
her wrists, together with a heterogeneous 
collection of ornaments of all sorts and kinds, 
made a pretty good second. 

Not a person spoke to me the whole of that 
day. Everyone avoided me in a most osten- 
tatious manner ; and everyone, or nearly 




everyone, had been so friendly. It was 
dreadful. If I had had enough money to 
pay the hotel bill, as well as the return-half 
of my ticket home, I believe I should have 
left Interlaken* there and then. But the 
choice of whether I would go or stay, as it 
turned out, was fiot to be left to me. 

Depressed, miserable, homesick, devoutly 
wishing that I had never left home, almost 
resolved that I would never leave it again,. 
I was about to go up to my room to dress for 
what I very well knew would only be the 
ghastly farce of dinner, when, as I reached 
the lift, a waiter came up to me and said that 
the manager wished to see me in his office. 
I did not like the man's manner ; it is quite 
easy for a Swiss waiter to be rude, and I was 
on the point of telling him that at the moment 
I was engaged and that the manager would 
have to wait, when something which I thought 
I saw in his eye caused me to change my mind, 
and, with an indefinable sense of discomfort, 
I allowed him to show me to the managerial 
sanctum. I never had liked the look of that 
manager ; I liked it less than ever when I 
found myself alone in his room with him. 
He was a youngish man, with a moustache, 
and hair parted mathematically in the centre. 
In general his bearing was too saccharine to 
be pleasant ; he did not err in that respect 
just then — it was most offensive. He looked 
me up and down as if I were one of his em- 
ployes who had done something wrong, and, 
without waiting for me to speak, he said : — 

" You are Miss Judith Lee — or you pretend 
that is your name ? " 

He spoke English very well, as most of the 
Swiss one meets in hotels seem to do. Nothing 
could have been more impertinent than his 
tone, unless it was the look which accom- 
panied it. I stared at him. 

" I am Miss Lee. I do not pretend that 
is my name ; it is." 

" Very well — that is your affair, not mine. 
You will no longer be allowed to occupy a 
room in this hotel. You can go at once." 

"What do you mean?" I asked. The 
man was incredible. 

" You know very well what I mean. Don't 
you try that sort of thing with me. You 
have stolen an article of jewellery belonging 
to a guest in my hotel. She is a very kind- 
hearted lady, and she is not willing to hand 
you over to the police. You owe me some 
money ; here's your bill. Are you going to 
pay it ? " 

He handed me a long strip of paper which 
was covered with figures. One glance at the 
total was enough to tell me that J h&d not 
Digitized by GOOglC 

enough money. Mrs. Travers was acting as 
my banker. She had left me with ample 
funds to serve as pocket-money till she 
returned, but with nothing like enough money 
to pay that bill. 

" Mrs. Travers will pay you when she comes 
back, either to-morrow or the day after." 

"Will she?" The sneer with which he 
said it ! " How am I to know that you're 
not at the same game together ? " 

" The same game ! What do you mean ? 
How dare you look at me like that, and talk 
to me as if I were one of your servants ! " 

" I'm not going to talk to you at all, my 
girl ; I'm going to do. I'm not going to 
allow a person who robs my guests to remain 
in my house under any pretext whatever. 
Your luggage, such as it is, will remain here 
until my bill is paid." He rang a bell which 
was on the table by which he was standing. 
The waiter entered who had showed me there. 
He was a big man, with a square, dauc face. 
" This young woman must go at once. If 
she won't leave of her own accord we must 
put her out, by the back door. Now, my 
girl — out you go ! " 

The waiter approached me. He spoke to 
me as he might have done to a dog. 

" Now, then, come along." 

He actually put his hand upon my shoulder. 
Another second, and I believe he would have 
swung me round and out of the room. But 
just as he touched me the door was opened 
and someone came rushing in — Mrs. Anstru- 
ther, in a state of the greatest excitement. 

" My diamonds have been stolen ! " she 
cried. " Someone has stolen my diamonds ! " 

" Your diamonds ? " The manager looked 
at her and then at me. " I trust, madam, 
you are mistaken ? " 

" I'm not mistaken." She sank on to a 
chair. She was a big woman of about fifty, 
and, at the best of times, was scant of breath. 
Such was her agitation that just then she 
could scarcely breathe at all. " As if I could 
be mistaken about a thing like that ! I went 
up to my bedroom — to dress for dinner — and 
I unlocked my trunk — I always keep it 
locked ; I took out my jewel-case — and un- 
locked that — and my diamonds were gone. 
They've been stolen ! — stolen ! — stolen ! " 

She repeated the word " slolen " three times 
over, as if the heinousness of the fact required 
to be emphasized by repetition. The man- 
ager was evidently uneasy, which even I felt 
was not to be wondered at. 

11 This is a very serious matter, Mrs, 
Anstruther " 

Shecuthims^ tfroni 





" Serious ? Do you think I need you to 
tell me that it's serious ? You don't know 
how serious. Those diamonds are worth 
thousands and thousands of pounds — more 
than the whole of your twopenny-halfpenny 
hotel — and they've been stolen. From my 
trunk, in my bedroom, in your hotel, they've 
been stolen ! " 

The way she hurled the words at him ! 
He looked at me, and he asked :— 

" What do you know about this ? ,J 

What did I know ? In the midst of my 

confusion and distress I was asking myself 
what I did know, Before 1 could speak the 
door was opened again and Mrs. Newball came 
in. And not Mrs! Newball only, but six or 
seven other women, some of them accom- 
panied by men — their husbands and their 
brothers. And they all told the same tale. 
Something had been stolen from each : from 
Mrs. Newball her five strings of pearls, from 
Mrs. This and Miss That the article of jewel- 
lery which was valued most. I am convinced 
that that manager, or his room, or probably 




his hotel, had never witnessed such a scene 
before. They were all as excited as could be, 
and they were all talking at once, and every 
second or two someone else kept coming in 
with some fresh tale of a dreadful loss. How 
that man kept his head at all was, and is, a 
mystery to me. At last he reduced them to 
something like silence, and in the presence of 
them all he said to me — pointing at me with 
his finger, as if I were a thing to be pointed 

" It is you who have done this ! You ! " 

Someone exclaimed in the crowd : " I saw 
her coming out of Mrs. Anstruther's room." 

The manager demanded : " Who spoke ? 
Who was it said that ? " 

A slight, faded, fair-haired woman came 
out into the public gaze. 

" I am Mrs. Anstruther's maid. I was 
going along to her room when I saw this 
young lady come out of the door. Whether 
she saw me or not I can't say ; she might 
have done, because she ran off as fast as ever 
she could. I wondered what she was doing 
there, and when my mistress came I told her 
what I had seen, and that's what made her 
open her trunk." 

" What Perkins says is quite true," cor- 
roborated Mrs. Anstruther. " She did tell 
me, and that made me uneasy ; I had heard 
something about a diamond pendant having 
been stolen last night, so I opened my jewel- 
case, and my diamonds were gone." 

" Mine was the diamond pendant which 
was stolen by this creature last night," inter- 
posed Miss Goodridge. "She came to my 
room and took it out of my trunk. Since she 
did that it seems not impossible that she has 
played the same trick on other people to-day. 
If she has, she must have had a pretty good 
haul, because I don't believe there is a person 
in the hotel who hasn't lost something." 

The manager spoke to an under-strapper. 

" Have this young woman's luggage 
searched at once, in the presence of wit- 
nesses, and let me know the result as soon 
as you possibly can." 

As the under-strapper went out I noticed 
for the first time that Mr. Sterndale was 
present with the rest, and almost at the same 
instant his sister came in. She looked about 
her as if wondering what was the cause 
of all the fuss. Then she went up to her 
brother, and he whispered something to her, 
and she whispered something to him. Only 
three or four words in each case, but my heart 
gave a'leap in my bosom — I mean that, really, 
because it did feel as if it actually had jumped 
— courage came into me ; and strength, and 

Digitized by GoOglC 

something better than hope : certainty ; 
because they had delivered themselves into 
my hands. I was never more thankful that I 
had the power of eavesdropping — you can 
call it eavesdropping, if you like ! — than I 
was at that moment. Only a second before 
I had been fearing that I was in a tight 
place, from which there was no way out ; 
which would mean something for me from 
which my very soul seemed to shrink. But 
God had given me a gift, a talent, which I 
had striven with all my might to improve 
ten, twenty fold, and that would deliver me 
from the wiles of those two people, even when 
hope of deliverance there seemed none. I 
feel confident that I held myself straighter, 
that trouble went from my face as it had done 
from my heart, and that, though each moment 
the case against me seemed to be growing 
blacker and blacker, I grew calmer and more 
self-possessed. I knew I had only to wait till 
the proper moment came, and the toils in 
which they thought they had caught me 
would prove to be mere nothings ; they would 
be caught, and I should be free. 

All the same, until that moment for which 
I was waiting came, it was not nice for me — 
standing there amidst all those excited people, 
between two porters, who kept close to either 
side of me, as if I were a prisoner and they 
had me in charge ; though I dare say it was 
as well that they did keep as close to me as 
they did, because I fancy that some of the 
injured guests at that hotel would have liked 
to give me a practical demonstration of what 
their feelings towards me were. 

That under-strapper came back in a sur- 
prisingly short space of time with a hand-bag 
— a brown bag, which I recognized to be my 

The agitated guests crowded round him 
like a swarm of bees. He had difficulty in 
forcing his way through them. The manager 
did his best to keep them in something like 
order — first with a show of mildness. 

" Ladies, gentlemen — gently, gently, if you 
please." Then, with sudden ferocity : " Stand 
back, there ! If you will not stand back, if 
you will not make room, how can anything be 
done ? Keep these people back ! " 

To whom this order was addressed was not 
quite clear. Thus admonished, the people 
kept themselves back — at least, sufficiently 
to enable that under-strapper to pass with 
my bag to the table. The manager said to 
him : — 

" Go to the other side ; what have you in 
that bag ? " When, as he said this, his 
guests evinced an inclination to press forward, 



3 01 

he threw out his arms on either side of him 
and posi lively shouted : — 

u Will you not keep buck ? If you will 
keep back, everything shall be done in order 
before you alh I ask you only to be a little 
sensible. If there is so much confusion, we 
shall not know what we are doing, I beg of 
you that you will be calm." 

If they were not precisely calm, the people 
did show some slight inclination to behave 

to the table. Of all the extraordinary collec- 
tions ! I believe there were articles belonging 
to every person in the hotel. When you came 
to think of it ? it was amazing how they had 
been gathered together — in what could only 
have been a short space of time — without the 
gatherer being detected. As for the behaviour 
of the guests of the hotel, it was like Bedlam 
broken loose. They pressed forward all 
together, ejaculating, exclaiming, snatching 



with an approach to common sense. They 
permitted th£ bag to be placed on the table, 
and the manager to open it, having first put 
some questions to the young man who brought 
it in* 

" Where did you find this bag ? " 

" In her room." I was the l< her," which 
he made clear by pointing his finger straight 
at me. 

" Was anyone else present in the room at 
the time you found it ? Did you find any- 
thing else ? ,? 

M There were three other persons present 
in the room. That bag was the first thing I 
touched. When I opened it and saw what was 
inside , I thought that, for the present, that 
would be enough* I think you also will be of 
my opinion when you see what it contains." 

Then the manager opened the bag. He 
looked inside, then he turned it upside down 
and allowed the whole contents to fall out on 

Digitized by tj< 

at this and thatj as each saw some personal 

11 Keep back ! Keep back ! " shouted the 
manager. " Will you not keep back ? l1 
As he positively roared at them they did 
shrink back as if a trifle startled, 4i If you 
will only have a little patience each lady 
shall have what belongs to her — if it is here." 

Mrs, Anstruthcr's voice was heard above 
the hubbub : " Are my diamonds there ? " 
Then Mrs. Newball's ; '* And my pearls ? i3 

The under - strapper was examining the 
miscellaneous collection which my bag had 
contained with all those women breaking into 
continual exclamations, watching him with 
hungry eyes. He announced the result of 
his examination, 

u No ; Mrs, Anstmther's diamonds do not 
appear to be here, nor Mrs + New ball's pearls ; 
there is nothing here which at all resembles 
them. Original from 



The manager held out towards me a 
minatory finger ; everyone seemed to have 
developed a sudden mania for pointing, 
particularly at me. 

" You ! Where have you put Mrs. New- 
ball's pearls and Mrs. Anstruther's diamonds ? 
Better make a clean breast of it, and no longer 
play the hypocrite. We will find them, if you 
do not tell us where they are, be sure of it. 
Now tell us at once." 

How he thundered at me ! It was most 
embarrassing, or it would have been if I had 
not been conscious that I held the key of the 
situation in my hand. As it was, I minded 
his thunder scarcely a, little bit, though I 
always have hated being ahotited at. I was 
very calm — certainly the calmest person there 
— which, of course, was not saying very much. 

" I can tell you where they are, if that is 
what you mean." 

" You know that is what I mean. Tell 
us at once ! at once ! " 

He banged his fist upon the table so that 
that miscellaneous collection trembled. . I 
did not tremble, though perhaps it was his 
intention that I should. I was growing 
calmer and calmer. 

" In the first place, let me inform you that 
if you suppose I put those things in my bag — 
the bag is certainly mine — or had anything 
to do with their getting there, you are mis- 

My words, and perhaps my manner, 
created a small diversion. " What impu- 
dence ! " " What assurance ! " " Did you 
ever see anything like it ? " "So young and 
so brazen ! " " The impudent baggage ! " 
Those were some of the things which they 
said, which were very nice for me to have 
to listen to. But I was sure, from a glimpse 
I had caught of Mr. and Miss Sterndale, that 
they were not quite at their ease, and that was 
such a comfort. 

" No Fes ! " thundered the manager, 
wtfose English became a little vulgar. " No 
foolery ! No stuck-up rubbish ! Tell us the 
truth — where are these ladies' jewels ? " 

" I propose to tell you the truth, if you will 
have a little patience." I returned him look 
for look ; I was not the least afraid of him. 
" I am gcing to give you a little surprise." 
I was so conscious of that that I was begin- 
ning to feci almost amused. " I have a power 
of which I think none of you have any concep- 
tion, especially two of you. I know what 
people are saying although I do not hear 
them ; like the deaf and dumb, who know 
what a person is saying by merely watching 
his lips." 

There were some very rude interruptions, 
to which I paid no notice whatever. An 
elderly man whom I had never seen before, 
and who spoke with an air of authority, 
advised them to give me a hearing. They did 
let me go on. 

I told them what I had seen Miss Sterndale 
say to her brother on the balcony the morning 
before. It was some satisfaction to see the 
startled look which came upon the faces of 
both the brother and the sister. They made 
some very noisy and uncivil comments, but, 
as I could see how uncomfortable they were 
feeling, I let them make them. I went on. 
I told how unhappy I had been all day, 
and how, when I returned, I found under the 
bottom tray of my jewel-case the diamond 
pendant. How, astounded, I went down to 
ask Miss Sterndale why she had put it there, 
and how, encountering Miss Goodridge bewail- 
ing her loss, utterly taken aback, I held out 
to her her pendant in a manner which, I 
admitted, might very easily have seemed 

By this time the manager's room was in a 
delightful state of din. Mr. and Miss Stern- 
dale were both of them shouting together, 
declaring that it was shocking that such a 
creature as I was should be allowed to make 
such monstrous insinuations. I believe, if it 
had not been for that grey-haired man who 
had suddenly assumed a position of authority, 
that Miss Sterndale would have made a per- 
sonal assault on me. She seemed half beside 
herself with rage — and, I was quite sure, with 
something else as well. 

I continued — in spite of the Sterndales. I 
could see that I was creating a state of per- 
plexity in the minds of my hearers which 
might very shortly induce them to take up 
an entirely different attitude towards me. 
I told of the brief dialogue which had taken 
place between the sister and brother that 
very morning. And then you should have 
seen how the Sterndales stormed and raged. 

" It seems to me," observed the grey-haired 
man to Mr. Sterndale, " that you protest too 
much, sir. If this young lady is all the things 
you say she is, presently you will have every 
opportunity of proving it. Since she is one 
young girl among all us grown-ups, it is only 
right and decent that we should hear what 
she has to say for herself. We can condemn 
her afterwards — that part will be easy." 

So I went on again. There was very little 
to add. They knew almost as much of the 
rest as I did. Someone had effected a whole- 
sale clearance of pretty nearly every valuable 
which the house contained. I did not pre- 

by Google 

■-■I I L| 1 1 I U I I I '_' I I 




tend to be certain, but I thought it extremely 
probable that it was Miss Sterndale who had 
done this, while her brother kept the owners 
occupied in other directions. At this point 
glances were exchanged. I afterwards 
learned that Mr. Sterndale had organized a 
party for an excursion on the Lake of Brienz, 
which had been joined by nearly everyone in 
the place with the exception of Miss Sterndale, 
who was supposed to have gone for a solitary 
expedition up the Schynnige Platte. When 
Miss Sterndale saw those glances, as I have 
no doubt she did, she commenced to storm 
and rage again, and continued to the end. I 
do not think, even then, she guessed what 
was coming ; but she was already more un- 
comfortable than she had expected to be, 
and I could see that her brother felt the same. 
His face was white and set ; he looked like 
a man who was trying to think of the best 
way in which to confront a desperate situa- 

I went on to explain, quite calmly, that as, 
owing to the machinations of Mr. Sterndale 
and his sister, everyone in the house had 
come to look upon me as a thief, their evident 
intention was to allow suspicion to be centred 
on me, and that that was why they put those 
things in my bag. 

" But what were they going to gain by 
that ? " asked the grey-haired man, rather 
pertinently. His question was echoed in a 
chorus by the rest — particularly, I noticed, 
by the Sterndales, who laid emphasis on the 
transparent absurdity of what I was saying. 

" If you will allow me to continue, I will 
soon make it perfectly clear to you what they 
were going to gain. If you remember, when 
Mr. Sterndale was talking io his sister on the 
balcony this morning, I saw him say to her 
that there were only two things in the house 
worth having " 

Here Mr. Sterndale burst into a very hurri- 
cane of adjectives. The grey-haired man 
addressed him with rather unlooked-for 

" Silence, sir ! Allow Miss Lee to continue." 

Mr. Sterndale was silent. I fancy he was 
rather cowed by what he saw in the speaker's 
eyes. I did continue. 

" The only two things which, according to 
Mr. Sterndale, were worth having were Mrs. 
Anstruthers diamonds and Mrs. Newball's 
pearls. If they put the whole of the rest of 
the stolen things into my bag it would be 
taken for granted that I was the thief, and 
they would be able to continue in unsuspected 
possession of the two things which were worth 
much more than all the rest put together/' 

Digitized by C-OOgle 

The moment I stopped the clamour began 

" And where do you suggest, young lady," 
asked the grey-haired man, " that those two 
articles are ? " 

" I will tell you." I looked at Miss Stern- 
dale and then at her brother. I believe they 
would both have liked to have killed and 
eaten me. They can scarcely have been sure, 
even then, of what I was going to say, but I 
could see that they were devoured by anxiety 
and fear. " I have told you that I can see 
what people are saying by merely watching 
their lips. When Miss Sterndale came into 
the room she whispered something to her 
brother, in so faint a whisper that her words 
could have been Scarcely audible even to 
themselves ; but I saw their faces, and I 
knew what they had said as plainly as if they 
had shouted it. He told her that he had 
Mrs. Anstruther's diamonds in the pocket of 
the jacket he has on." 

I paused. The first expression on Mr. 
Sterndale's face was one of blank astonish- 
ment. Then he broke into Billingsgate abuse 
of me. 

" You infernal liar ! You two-faced cat ! 
You dirty little witch ! I'm not going to 
stay in this room to be insulted by a miserable 
creature " 

He made for the door. " Stop him ! " I 
cried. As he reacted the door it was thrown 
back almost in his face, and who should come 
into the room but Mr. and Mrs. Travers. 
How glad I was to see them ! " Stop him ! " 
I cried to Mr. Travers. " Stop that man ! " 
And Mr. Travers stopped him. " Put your 
hand into the pocket of his jacket and take 
out what he has there." 

Mr. Travers, knowing nothing of what had 
been taking place, must have been rather at 
a loss as to what I might mean by such a 
request ; but he did as I told him, all the 
same. Mr. Sterndale struggled ; he did his 
best to protect himself and his pocket ; but 
he was rather a small man, and Mr. Travers 
was a giant, both in stature and in strength. 
In a very few seconds he was staring at the 
contents of his hand. 

" From the look of things, this gentleman's 
pocket seems to be stuffed with diamonds. 
Here's a diamond necklace." 

He held one up in the air. Heavy weight 
though she was, I believe that Mrs. Anstruther 
sprang several inches from the floor. 

" It's my necklace ! " she screamed. 

" And where are my pearls ? " demanded 
Mrs. Newball. 

" Miss Sterndale whispered to her brother 




that your pearls were inside the bodice of 
her dress." 

The words were scarcely out of my lips 
before Mrs. Newball sprang at Miss Sterndale, 
and there ensued a really painful scene. Had 
she not been restrained, I dare say she would 
have lorn Miss Sterndale^s clothes right off 
her, As it was, someone opened her bodice, 
and the pearls were produced. 

definite period, at my own expense, to give 
evidence in a case in which I was not in the 
faintest degree interested. The others, the 
guests in the hotel, did not want to do that 
any more than 1 did. Their property was 
restored to ihem — that was what they wanted. 
They would have liked to punish the thieves, 
but not at the cost of so much inconvenience 
to themselves. So far as we were concerned, 

** from the look of things, this 

gentleman's pocket seems to be stuffed with diamonds 

The scene which followed was like pan- 
demonium on a small scale. It seemed as if 
everyone had gone stark; staring mad. 
Guests, manager, and staff were all shouting 
together. I know that Mrs. Travers had her 
arm round me, and I was happier than — only 
a few minutes before — I thought that I 
should ever feel again, 

We did not prosecute the Sterndales— 
which turned out not to be their name, and 
they were proved not to be sister and brother* 
Law in Switzerland does not move too 
quickly ; the formalities to be observed are 
numerous. I did not very much want to 
have to remain in Switzerland for an in- 

Digilized by L.i003lC 

the criminals got off 
scot-free; but, none 
the less, they did 
not escape the ven- 
geance of the law. 
That night they 
were arrested at 
Interlaken on another charge. It 
seemed that they were the per- 
petrators of that robbery in the 
hotel at Pontresina which., ac- 
cording to Mr. .Sterndale, his 
apocryphal clerical friend had laid 
at my door. They had passed 
there as Mr, and Mrs. Burnett, 
and w r ere found guilty and sentenced to a 
long term of imprisonment. I have not seen 
or heard anything of that pseudonymous 
brother and sister since. I hope I never shall. 
To find out what people are saying to each 
other in confidence, when they suppose them- 
selves to be out of the reach of curious ears, 
may be very like eavesdropping. If it is, 1 
am very glad that, on various occasions in 
my life, 1 have been enabled to be an eaves- 
dropper in that sense. Had I nut, at. Inter- 
la ken, had the power which made of me an 
eavesdropper, I might have been branded as 
a criminal, and my happiness, my whole life, 
have been destroyed for even 


Buffle-rTeaded Choctaws. 

(HosKKfe few Xfl^^kevO 

R. GRIGGS has retired from 
his grocery business, and it 
matters not now to him what 
spiteful person may call it a 
chandler's. The little cottage 
in the country — not too far 
out , but just far out enough — 
which had so long been a vision of his dreams, 
is now a reality — has been so, in fact, for 
some months. Mr. Griggs's new-found liberty 
is a sweet and precious thing ; but he ran a 
risk of losing it at the very beginning. 

He was seized with the strikingly novel 
idea of keeping fowls ; and, never before 
having kept anything nearer fowls than the 
eggs in hi.s shop — which, in fact, were a very 
long way off. in miles and in time, from the 
hens who laid them — he sought guidance in 
handbooks and periodicals. He subscribed 
to the Feathered Biped and the Scrateking- 
Sked Gazette, and he plunged with much 
enthusiasm into the pages of the first issues 
of those exciting periodicals which came to 
his hand. 

In a more equable frame of mind he would 
have paused at the prospect opened before 
him ; but he was optimistic and eager, and 

Vol, xlii.~35 

Digitized by GoOQ I C 

he only grew more enthusiastic as his original 
simple vision of half-a-dozen common or 
back-door yard -s era tchers expanded into 
imaginary mobs of Duck wing Yokohamas, 
Sebright Bantams, Rhode Island Reds, Croad 
Langshans, Salmon Faverolles, and Crushed- 
Strawberry Leghorns. The sole difficulty was 
to make up his mind which breed to begin 
with. Meantime, he seized hammer and saw, 
and acquired board-yielding egg- boxes, nails 
and wire, hinges and screws. 

As a carpenter Mr, Griggs's education was 
only beginning, and, to confess the fact, it 
had not gone very far even when his hen- 
house was complete. But he persevered 
joyfully, under the placid gaze of Mrs. Griggs, 
who passed her life of retirement mainly in 
a sitting position, approving of all her husband 
did, because it saved trouble, In the end 
Mr. Griggs's architecture and carpentry 
stood triumphantly revealed, and he T not 
without honourable wounds received in the 
struggle, returned to consideration of breeds. 

+t Nothing like a really good stock/' said 
Mr. Griggs^ dropping the Barndoor News and 
reaching for the Roosters 1 Record; "nothing 
like a prize stock of a good breed. 1 ' 

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" Yes, dear/* replied Mrs. Griggs, placidly* 

"Costs a bit more to begin with," Mr, 
Griggs went on, struggling with the volu- 
minous advertisement pages of the Cock-a- 
doodle Chronicle i *' but you soon get it all 
hack in prizes and sales of birds. Quite a 
business it is." 

" Yes, dear/' repeated Mrs. Griggs } a little 
doubtfully this time, 
because she had i— — ■ » ■ — — 
hoped that they 
had retired from 

The married life of 
Mr. and Mrs. Griggs 
had remained un- 
clouded throughout, 
chiefly because of 
that placid u Yes, 
dear/' of Mrs* Griggs; 
but now that very 
phrase, so placable 
and soothing, threat- 
ened storms. When 
Mr. Griggs suggested 
Duck wing Yoko- 
hamaSj Mrs. Griggs 
said "Yes, dear"; 
and when he offered 
the alternative of 
Salmon Faverolles, 
she said " Yes, dear/ 3 
also, not knowing 
one from the other 
— nor, in fact, did 
Mr. Griggs, except 
for the spelling be- 
fore his eyes. So he 
tried again with 
Silver Campines, " ' ves, dear,' replied 
and Mrs* Griggs 

said *' Yes, dear/' once more; and when 
he mentioned Blue Wyandottes and got 
the same reply yet again, Mr. Griggs burst 
out and accused his spouse of perversity and 
contradiction. But there is a proverb about 
the numerical requirements of a quarrel, and 
the placid Mrs, Griggs refused to form a 
quorum. In the end, bemused and partly 
stifled under an accumulation of poultry 
periodicals, Mr. Griggs sent off an expensive 
order for a family of Buffle-headed Choctaws 
— or something with an approximate name— 
and sank back among the poultry papers 
once more. 

His mind once released from the task of 
selection, he began to contemplate other 
cognate matters , and grew more and more 
impressed with the magnitude of his under- 

taking. In the advertisement pages of the 
Roosters' Record and the rest he counted 
four hundred and twenty-seven different 
special patent foods, deprived of any one of 
which his birds would perish miserably ; one 
hundred and thirty-eight patent incubators, 
each better than all the rest, to release from 
the irksome duty of sitting the patrician hens 

of whom it would 

— — — be disrespectful to 

expect such vulgar 
devotion ; and two 
hundred and four- 
teen designs and 
builds of hen-man- 
sion, each absolutely 
necessary to save the 
fancier from the con- 
sequences of wanton 
cruelty to birds ; 
while he wholly lost 
count of the pills, 
powders, ointments, 
and lotions without 
which his stock must 
die unanimously. 

He found himself 
vaguely resenting 
the fact that, not- 
withstanding all this 
excitement, * Mrs* 
Griggs was visibly 
— and audibly— fall- 
ing asleep in her 
chair. Could this 
be called wifely 
sympathy ? 


by Google 

No good leaving 
it to the railway 
people to bring the 
fowls over, Mr. Griggs reflected. So he 
borrowed a horse and cart in the village and 
drove to the station to fetch them himself. 
He had a dim sort of notion that such high- 
born creatures as prize -bred Buffle -headed 
Choctaws would expect very different treat- 
ment from common fowls, and he felt an 
uneasy sense of being about to receive 
distinguished company and not knowing 
exactly how to behave. 

As he approached the station the train 
came steaming in with unusual fuss and 
smoke, and loud whistles from the triumphant 
driver. Plainly this was the train they were 
coming by — Mr, Griggs was somehow sure 
of it, without inquiring. These intuitive 
convictions come to everybody on occasions, 
and this was one of the occasions. How the 
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driver whistled ! The fussy importance with 
which the engine steamed and puffed and 
smoked would have been ridiculous on any 
less serious occasion , but it was clear that 
the engine also realized the high responsibility 
of its task. Mr. Griggs drove up to the station 
exit and waited, expectant, with many 
thoughts chasing through his brain* How 
would his visitors regard Stubbs's somew r hat 
shabby old cart and his elderly horse ? And 
would it not have been more respectful to 
meet them with a brass band ? 

An odd human passenger or two came 
straggling out, to be instantly waved aside 
by the ticket-collector, and thus to vanish 
unregarded. Then the visitors appeared, and 
Mr. Griggs instantly remembered with regret 
that there